I am the girl who walks in graveyards,
Making friends with ghosts and death.
Speaking in soundless tunes,
Hearing more than the wind in the leaves.
I am the girl who holds hands with the dead,
Connecting them to the living.
Bridging the two sides together.
Least it be forgotten.
I leave flowers in unmarked graves,
Sit and chat with tombs of old.
Smiling to the reaper
As I am the girl in the graveyard.
About the Creator
Lane Burns
I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I’m still just finding my voice and coming to believe that I can do this again. I like writing poetry and darker fiction. As well as some fan fictions!
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Very well written. Keep up the good work!
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Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
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Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis5 days ago in Humans
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