" A visit to the grave"

taking stock of personal regrets

The clouds hang overhead, pregnant with despair.

I walk through the graveyard of my dreams,

have I not tended to them with care?,

neglected are their headstones.

Weeds grow between their plots.

Not often do I visit here,

that is known to all that have eyes.

Forgotten are those sparks of a life not lived,

but for fleeting moments.

The air is cool here.

Shaded by the weeping willows that shed tears

for those dreams lost to this afterworld.

No creature dares ever to call this glade home.

With a strength drawn from the god who gave me life,

I start to tend these forgotten wishes.

The air is cool here.

It erases the evidence of my labors from my brow.

There deaths, at least a few were preventable.

Coming here it seems is a reminder of my frailty,

my humanity. My immortality has been revoked.

Seems there will be no time to play god,

to resurrect those who have passed to the afterlife.

I stand and pick my way to the gates, my body groaning.

I quietly offer my condolences to the dead.