My Grave
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow;
I am diamond glints of snow;
I am sunlight on ripened grain;
I am gentle autumn’s rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush;
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds encircled flight
I am the soft star that shines at night
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there I did not die
Blackrabbit commented on My Grave
09-13-2009
09/13/2009
Poetry is either something that lives like fire inside you or else it is nothing, an empty formalized bore around which pedants can endlessly drone their notes and explanations.
Unknown Source
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| Prison | 0 | 09/13/2009 |
| I Love You | 0 | 09/13/2009 |
| Knowledge | 0 | 09/13/2009 |
| The Lost Soul | 0 | 09/13/2009 |
| A Bloody Cry | 0 | 09/13/2009 |
| Past Life | 0 | 09/13/2009 |
| Proof of Love | 0 | 09/12/2009 |
| My Grave | 1 | 09/12/2009 |
| Dark Forest | 0 | 09/12/2009 |
| Types of Love | 0 | 09/12/2009 |
| Angel of Death | 0 | 09/12/2009 |
| The Nightmare | 0 | 09/12/2009 |
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.