Resident Artist 2, No. 5: A WORLD WITH CEMETERIES

I could not imagine living in a world without cemeteries.

A peaceful reflection filled with the hope of tranquil slumber.

The hostel where history stays alive by annual bouquets

and concrete pillows plotted inside the nature of evolution.

Heavy rainfall comes from tear ducts in the nebula of memory

where death is topic and sleep shouldn’t risk nightmare.

Confident secrets confessed to an empty ear trapped

under soft grass when the comfort of commiseration strikes.

Guilt, obligation and respect are the purpose being of flowers

atop four walled holding cells given by the living who refuse to let go.

Captured skeletons rotting away, waiting for loved ones

to cross over and one day have a known next door neighbor.

Never a day goes by where I am not writing my eulogy.

How I will be remembered after the warmth of the unknown

consumes me and how I should live everyday in that mirror.

Every foot step in life protects my actions because of the end.

I could not imagine a world without cemeteries.

I need them to remind me of the preservative nature of living

and how to share it with others. I need them to remind me

that dark is the optimal color of growth and possibility.

They serve the purpose to the essence of absence.

How one whisper of time is something,

everything has in common.

We all have to live in a world with cemeteries.

Resident Artist 2: David Arthur, No. 5