If Graves Could Talk
If Graves Could Talk
If graves could talk,
The tenderest stone covering up fleshes
The coffin inside would mourn,
To the degrading skin they have to keep.
How the bones,
Feel nothing but the skin melts at a sedate pace.
How they hear the whispers one make inside about life,
But feel the tranquil gaze of the soul which roams so free.
If graves could talk,
They might recognise the touches of the lover,
How the fingertips freeze when they trace the grass now grown,
And the name which is carved on the stone,
And now they are so gone.
The little flower trying to bloom,
And how a life is born from a life that's gone.
Now and forever.
If graves could talk,
They may mock at us humans,
And the layers they maintain, inside lies the truth of death and the other side; the lie of life.
They may sing a serenade to now; the melted skin, and the fragile bones,
Oh how bodies with life gifts and greets the body wrapped in death,
Or how some of them humans, fake and rude,
But for sure even the graves know,
'Dead people receive more flowers than the living ones because regret is stronger than gratitude'