Letters To The Dead Poem by Jamie Dewyer

stop here
the leaves form circles
in the dirt
weave through this field of bones
and hurt
and saddness
stones that turn
to homes
for mourning souls

hold the paper close
kneel down
in moss
and earth
and hope

the right words find the page

behind
the forest
lives
a new life
where sun rises
bright and brimming with
happy clouds

down here in my undertow world of
regret
the light
shines only to whimper out
epitaphs

oceans deep under my wasted gift
nothing to replace the hollowed out
center of
love