My Grave
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow;
I am diamond glints of snow;
I am sunlight on ripened grain;
I am gentle autumn’s rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush;
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds encircled flight
I am the soft star that shines at night
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there I did not die
Blackrabbit commented on My Grave
09-13-2009
09/13/2009
Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.
T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| Prison | 0 | 09/13/2009 |
| I Love You | 0 | 09/13/2009 |
| Knowledge | 0 | 09/13/2009 |
| The Lost Soul | 0 | 09/13/2009 |
| A Bloody Cry | 0 | 09/13/2009 |
| Past Life | 0 | 09/13/2009 |
| Proof of Love | 0 | 09/12/2009 |
| My Grave | 1 | 09/12/2009 |
| Dark Forest | 0 | 09/12/2009 |
| Types of Love | 0 | 09/12/2009 |
| Angel of Death | 0 | 09/12/2009 |
| The Nightmare | 0 | 09/12/2009 |
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