Graveyard

There is a graveyard

That I know of

That I have seen

That I don’t like

To think of.

I like to pretend

It isn’t there

As if that helps

But it doesn’t

But I know it is

Because

I’ve seen it.

The thing is

I am

The only one

Who has seen

This graveyard.

Bodies stacked

Neatly, precisely,

On top of

Each other.

Sorted alphabetically

For easy access

Or so

It seems.

So orderly

Is the sense

Of loss

That for a moment

I forget

Just how sad

The whole thing

Really is.

I wander

Through the ranks

I wonder

About the stories

About what

Each name

Each person

Each life

Would be now

If they had made it

If they had survived.

It’s calm here

Their problems

Their arguments

Their grievances

Soundless now

Only now

Recognising

That those things

Were without value

All along.

There is

A finality

To a graveyard

A sense that

There is

Nothing else

That need be

Done,

Nothing else

That can be

Done.

That is,

After all,

Important

If one wants

To rest

In peace.

Yet as calm

As it is

Amongst these

Forgotten names

I don’t like

To linger,

Because they are

Nothing to me.

They could

Have been,

Perhaps,

At the right time

In the right light

But no,

That’s a

Pointless game.

So I exit

That graveyard

Flee from

Those sad names

That only I

Can see.

And my escape

Takes no effort

Because that

Graveyard

Is just

The names of

Contacts

On a screen.