A cold breeze brushes past my me,
Sending shivers down my spine.
"Someone walked over your grave," I'm told.

So where is this grave?

I'm dead already, inside.
Where can I rest the empty shell
I exist as now?

I'm sure there's a headstone somewhere,
Naming me as the boy who had everything,
But who really had nothing.

There must be some sort of recognition..

Someone out there MUST know,
Even if they dont care.

A clue, a hint, a whisper of a happiness
Now gone forever.

Lost in the cold winds of November.

Mourn the days of yesteryear,
Days that can never be regained.
Days that remain eternally buried.
Buried in the lost tomb that I call
Home.

Tweet

Comments on this poem/writing:

Click here to read other Poems by Mike

Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

COPYRIGHT NOTICE: All Rights Reserved.   No part of this website, including all pictures and written words,  may be reproduced or copied in any manner from this website without  permission of the original author of the work.  All poetry and pictures herein remain the sole property of the original author and/or copyright owner.  All poetry on this website has been submitted by the original author of the work. To contact any author of the work please e-mail: dreamer@dreamersreality.com  so the proper person may be notified.