BY MAC LOGAN
Itʼs a quiet space… a graveyard,
a place where mortals ended
a life of some contentment
with a share of sadness blended.
At every turn you see
a stone that says: I love you …
You left mayhap Iʼm lonely …
I’ll shortly follow on.
Sadly missed when the last breath hissed,
a dear beloved brother …
We cry for you between twelve and two,
on alternate days from Mother.
Long centuries of rich and frugal
wait upon the final bugle,
beneath two tons of marble,
below a pauper’s stone.
I hear the atheistic screams,
they think they die for ever.
I hear the smirk of the Wee-Free Kirk
as they tune their harps together.
Convention and love are different things,
not everybody heeds.
Love isnʼt chained by the sod and stone
convention really needs.
So, here I stand in dead folksʼ land
and standing here I wonder,
Will earth and stones conceal my bones?
Will I lie in peace down under?
Copyright Mac Logan
Mac Logan is a Scottish Poet & Author.