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Old Cemetery

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I love to write poems and I enjoy everything that's poetic because poetry is always soothing and perfect for the soul.


It is a bench forgotten in the back of the garden,

Among the weeds, next to a pond.

A mossy stone bench eroded by the years,

In the shade of a large oak worn out by time.

It is a bench neglected for so many seasons,

In an abandoned corner of greenery,

An insignificant seat with a faded look,

Vestige of the past, surrounded by nettles.

Under the full red moon, two dead souls,

Float in the evening air , perfumed by summer.

Their white silhouettes slip into the night,

Pushed by the gentle wind, they approach silently.

As long ago they embrace, these lovers of the past,

Here time freezes, death does not exist.

They find the bench, witness of happy days,

Guardian of their secrets, friend of lovers.

Their clumsy caresses and their icy kisses,

Revive the oaths they had exchanged,

Here, in the same place, on this demolished bench,

When their hearts throbbed, full of joy and envy.

Dawn arrives, they get up, resume their journey.

He sighs, she cries, will they come back tomorrow?

Two specters nostalgic for yesterday's memories,

Slowly set off towards the old cemetery.

© 2021 Zeenat

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