Cemetery Solace

This poem was also written for my college poetry class. This type of poem is a sestina, meaning a poem with six stanzas (all containing six lines) and then a final triplet. Each line must ends with one of six words, all throughout the poem. In this poem, the word are “breeze,” “noise,” tombs,” “him,” “graveyard,” and “Jency.” All six words also appear in the final triplet.

Like with a previous poem, I used this assignment as a character study for a story I was writing. The story was never finished, but it’s one that’s always stayed in my mind. Who knows… I might just revisit it one day.

At night, the leaves would rattle in the breeze,

But no one else would hear their subtle noise

As they scuffled over the crumbling tombs.

The twisted graves had never bothered him

Nor had living so close to the graveyard.

What had always bothered him was Jency.

She had hair like melted caramel, Jency,

And her voice, refreshing as a spring breeze

Was now terrible in the calm graveyard;

It shrieked in his mind; he hated the noise–

It was still unbelievable to him–

And he wished he could be hard as the tombs.

It would be simpler to be stone, like tombs,

To be still and never think of Jency,

And to never again see her with him

And his arms shielding her from the cold breeze,

And his lips meeting hers–again the noise!

His mind was loud in the frozen graveyard.

Once, Jency had joined him in the graveyard:

They had been two, hidden among the tombs,

And she had jumped at every sudden noise.

Their first-grade hands had met–his and Jency’s.

But that time had gone, like seeds in a breeze,

Leaving him irate, thinking about him:

Ripped chest and rough beard and roguish grin… him.

He would not have an interest in graveyards,

With his tar-dark hair waving in the breeze.

He didn’t think about the names on tombs

Because his thoughts were on kissing Jency.

In his mind, there was no chaos, no noise.

But in the loser’s mind, there was still noise,

And the memories were far too much for him.

His throat burned at the thought of Jency…

And his now private walk in the graveyard–

Unless you counted the ominous tombs

Or the constant, whispering springtime breeze.

The breeze, graciously, lifted all the noise,

Leaving him in the past, with young Jency,

Alone in the tombs, safe in the graveyard.

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