Trample My Flowered Grave

Trample My Flowered Grave
© Surazeus
2026 07 31

Heart-aching sorrow of unwritten tales, 
that depict the suffering people endure 
as they are destroyed by indifferent Nature, 
smears scarlet despair across empty skies 
that wakes vain hope in broken hearts of souls 
who chase glow of Heaven into their grave. 

Thus I shall linger calmly on this shore, 
relaxed among jagged rocks of desire, 
face veiled by drifting mist of unconcern, 
to wait with blithe assurance of blank death 
for time to weave my body from mute light 
so I will glow with joy in my dark grave. 

If I join army of hope-righteous fools 
to fight in vain against cruel tyranny, 
I may find freedom to live as I will 
while striding boldly along mountain streams 
where no grim soldiers with weapons of death 
could hurl my body in lost unmarked grave. 

Strange stars that I have never seen before 
flicker through tangled web of wind-tossed limbs 
so I cannot now navigate by gleam 
of canon-regulated creeds to follow 
path of my faith to secret Promised Land 
that preserves small space for my special grave. 

Confined to hollow dale of silent winds 
that ruffle strange emotions of my heart 
across ice-black water of moss-framed pool, 
I pluck blackberries from long tangled vines 
to find sweet memories of my childhood days 
when I played free around my undug grave. 

Still awake long into dark evening gloom, 
I hear red-breasted Robins in thick Rowans 
sing delicate warbling tunes of regret 
which sparks fierce passion in my aching heart 
to haughtily endure the bitter storms 
when men with guns trample my flowered grave. 

Sweet summer days when we were free to roam 
fairy-haunted vales among rugged hills 
have vanished with huge cloudy palaces 
that shimmer bright as guide for wanderers 
when strict armies of greedy men invade 
valley of skulls that sing in secret graves. 

Concerned civilization will collapse 
again because politicians violate 
sacred Jovian law of hospitality 
bound to ensure social stability, 
I bring cart of apples to castle hall 
where ghosts of my ancestors fill my grave.