My Mother's Grave

Here, where the flowers lie
Alone in their beds
Where I hang my head and cry
for a soulmate dead

Beside the barren tombstone
Of one I knew lively
I feel the way a corpse is cold
And I feel the irony

Your love would come down on me
Crashing in a wave
But the tides don't flow endlessly
And some can't be saved

So the drops lasting on my skin
Can sing with my tears
Until they turn to vapor, thin.
We all disappear.

Written June 2021

This is a poem about fictional events. My mother is alive.

Take me back.

Take me home.