No fall to earth, no plaintive cry.
No false regrets. No ending sigh.

No stab, no arrow and no shot.
All of these things were not her lot.

No accusation of who’s to blame.
No faulty party here to name.

Let mourners mourn if mourn they must,
reduce her body into dust.

They do it all to no avail,
She sees no tears. She hears no wail.

I fear your mourning goes too slow.
Only her body remains below,

for she departed long ago
to melt into that greater flow.

For her, all mortal customs cease,
so let her mourners rest in peace.

Prompts offered at this point are plaintive, accusation, stab,

11 thoughts on “R.I.P.

  1. Sam

    While this poem is disconsolately sad, it is such a strong feeling I get when I am searching through a very old country cemetery and see the graves that are grown up, or markers that have been knocked over by stupid teen age kids. Sad for me that even their descendants no longer know who or where they were. Thanks for that~! I am inserting it into the photos of my ancestry work. Some of the markers on my great, great grand parents plantation were actually stolen by inconsiderate hunters from the old plantation cemetery, Fortunately I had them returned to me by a person who recognized the name, and knew the connection.

    As an interesting related thought. The plantation slave cemetery was near the Red River, which put them in danger of being washed away when the river changed it’s course. So the government moved those graves to a little community church where the descendants of those slaves had been given property at the end of the war~! That cemetery was then safe but the family cemetery was not~!

    This little community is called “Wilson Point”, as my grand mother and G-great grandfather were a Wilsons~!

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Sam

        Yes I have said to you several times that our thoughts often seem to often run parallel, but then, when it sounds like a “come on”, I am embarrassed that I said it, but this is not the case~!,

        Your photo of that grave right after the poem about “Maria”, gave me a parallel thought of the migrants who walked through all of Mesoamerica with the hardships ending up in a strange place among strange people (if they made it alive). And some of the reception had an ingrained dislike (hate) for them because they were “different”.

        This reminded me of the land where you were raised and the people walking through the Northwest on the Oregon Trail, often dying and being buried under a pile of rocks, never a descendant even knowing where their bodies were.

        Did you know that the Mormons were some of those “Bigots”~? I am sure you have seen some of those small, cold, wet “dugouts” in your part of the world. People from another land, often not not even speaking the same language. And can you image a young girl, often not even much knowing the man (who more or less bought her) and she married, going out into that “God Forsaken” land with no neighbors or a person who she knew very well.

        I have read and know of the wars between “Sheep people and Cattle people” Just the similar bigotry that we have today, if maybe of a different color or language~! Yes how many rocks cover just this sort of a person even today in a hole or under rocks by the side of a path. So sad but should be talked about even farther than you went~!

        Please forgive me, I do have a “hair trigger brain” and the least little thing, thought, picture or word can set it off, on a long past memory, of a person, or thoughts of events that I have had. I hope that “fault” stays with me the rest of my life. So please don’t think that it is a come on, you are not the only person who pulls that trigger~!

        Thanks for pulling my trigger~!

        So here is what those two last poems triggered in me:



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