Do not disturb the cemetery guard
Do not disturb the cemetery guard
He is in charge of your after life chart
Just lie down, silent and deep in your grave below
And do not yell, stir or ask for a furlough
I know how much you yearn
To know what has become
While you were in your coffin forgotten for some
Or see your relatives and the neighbors
And check their toils, hardship or labors
But you are new in eternity, so much to observe and learn
I know how much you earnestly crave
To burst out to the air from this grave
To you it will be a sense of human generous just
To leave behind, if for a moment all this decay and dust
A repeat may be just for one more time
Grab your books bag in a child prime
And rush in fresh air morning without homework to school
And be rebuked by your teacher 'You dammed fool'
Oh, lie down in your gloom and let wise Nature work her will
And on your clay tomb her darnel will grow
In first years your relatives will visit you when days are bright and still
At your blemished headstone they will bow and whisper low
And tell you of their life, and events you have missed in the show
We all as humans of any color or faith
Hold common scorn and defame to eternal death
The creaking sound of cords lowering us down
As earth returns back to earth with no rising dawn
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Related quotes
The Grave Digger
I am a quite, humble, honest and very generous man
who likes to aid people around as much as I can
And I should not be utterly despised for my vocation
Just because I am a grave digger by profession
Indeed, I do not desire or wish the dead
People should live long and loved side by side
Pure life with no baseness, shame or sin to hide
But if no one dies how shall I pay my debts I dread
I pray and mourn any human that rests below
And as the grasses in the cemetery wave
I passionately take care of every stone grave
In passing the dirt and dust I blow
I never wrong a grave with fears and tears untrue
Nor can I be blamed for carrying on my job with no faith
There must be wisdom and sense in death
Life cannot continue forever, once all must be thru
And yet people find but faults in my case
I have never been saluted in friendly grace
They pass me by without leaving any embrace
In a sublime whisper: Here come the funeral face
For I am near you when your light is in halt
when the blood creeps, and the nerves tingle and prick
And the heart heavily throbs; it is tattered and sick
And all the world comes to a close; the wheels of being thwart
Come at night within the cemetery walls
When the moon light shines on time wracked stones
Those who lie with legacies and dreams dead unborn
As the lunar splendor stretches shadows as it falls
Those who lie beneath their fancies and fears
when alive sorrow and grief dug deepening down
And with muffled motions blindly drown
The agony and anguish of their life in tears.
People hate me with deep rancor and loath
Because I am a grave digger in truthful oath
And I am upset full of anguish and misery
Impossible to get a friend, were it not better not to be
Cant they understand all human things are subject to decay
Life do not go forever upon the land
For every beginning there is an end
When fate summons, even monarchs must obey
We all as humans of any color or faith
Hold common scorn and defame to eternal death
The creaking sound of cords lowering us down
As earth returns back to earth with no rising dawn
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Savage Time
Savage cruel Time that in your claws we deposit our trust
And youth, and our joy, and our all, whole we have and hope
And what we are paid back by your deceitful trade? earth and dust
In that dark eternal final state of grave with no upward slope
You take us, pluck us from the world; before we mature our ways
Shut up, closed and wrap in shroud the story of our undone days
Ah, from this earth, this grave this dust none of us revive or last
We are gone abandoned by all around; left with no trust
Daily we count the clock that measures you Time
And we watch bereft of a brave day sinking into hideous night
Our violet timid and shy yields to you its prime
as our heads all silvered over with white
And nothing against your scythe can make defense still
Unless we breed our beauties forth to escape your eternal skill
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Love lost
She was so cruel and capricious making me bury our love
Not in a grave yard under a sluttish tomb stone
But beneath a tall oak tree of a forest dark, wide and alone
Where none can come across or see from above
There will be no memorial days or sad hours
And I shall never visit the tree or put flowers
Yet the mouth I loved so much to kiss and to treat
Was none like so daring and bittersweet
I shall never go to the under tree love grave
For the woods are hostile, dark and cold
My time I shall for new love save
New love, new joy, constrain the rebel heart, forget the old
All day long I shall stay in the sun
Where the wide winds blow and flowers bloom
But oh, I shall cry at night for my sorrow is still undone
When none will know my time of agony and gloom
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When I go
When my bells toll a melancholy saddening sound
Calling the people to lend my final end their honest prayers
In some gloominess, more dreadful condolence and chilling cares
More hearking to the sermon's horrid round
Surely the mind of every man in the mourning throng is closely bound
In some black spell; seeing that each other tears
Are shaded in self lament too, and gnawing fears
Sending a man to the grave is not a sight of glory crowned
When the bells drum my time; I should feel a damp
The same chill I felt when passing by a grave yard; did not I know
That all creatures are dying like an out burnt lamp
That all are now praying; sighing, wailing knowing their time to go
Into oblivion will come; and by their tombs fresh flowers will scent and will grow
For most humans without the glories of immortal lasting stamp
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Shall I care?
Shall I care at all, that in the dreams and in the languor of time
My poetry does not show me and my inner most being and prime
For my poems are fragrance, and not a credible reflection
Words like shadows in disharmony dance and daunt imagination
But I do care, for life will be over so soon,
And I will be lost, forgotten as my being never happen
Like a small candle in mid day bright noon
And my quill idle, blunt and not sharpen
yet, like barley bending in harsh summer winds throng
And rising again and again
So would I, free and unbroken rise from agony and pain
Day long, night long change my sorrow into words of song
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And the was
And the was like it never had been
As if it is forgotten to be a never happen
It drifts away into the far mists of the past
Lovers first sight, zeal rapture and the engulfing lust
Time is a generous entrepreneur it let us grow old
The memories will be encapsulated in thin fragile patina
Being dappled with daily events unlikely attendants in our arena
Thus the was story never happened its shadow flickers into me cold
It is the world habit that love asks more than life can give
And once this lesson learned all essence is earned
Yet in its self web of fantasy and dreams love is its own fugitive
Rebellious, tenacious, delirious unwilling to give or to bend
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C. L. M.
In the dark womb where I began
My mother's life made me a man.
Through all the months of human birth
Her beauty fed my common earth.
I cannot see, nor breathe, nor stir.
But through the death of some of her.
Down in the darkness of the grave
She cannot see the life she gave.
For all her love, she cannot tell
Whether I use it ill or well,
Nor knock at dusty doors to find
Her beauty dusty in the mind.
If the grave's gates could be undone,
She would not know her little son,
I am so grown. If we should meet
She would pass by me in the street,
Unless my soul's face let her see
My sense of what she did for me.
What have I done to keep in mind
My debt to her and womankind ?
What woman's happier life repays
Her for those months of wretched days ?
For all my rnouthless body leeched
Ere Birth's releasing hell was reached ?
What have I done, or tried, or said
In thanks to that dear woman dead ?
Men triumph over women still,
Men trample women's rights at will.
And man's lust roves the world untamed.
* • * •
O grave, keep shut lest I be shamed.
poem by John Masefield (1902)
Submitted by anonym
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My worst nightmare
My worst nightmare I dread and fear
To be buried beneath a street far from my dears
I will be long dead and my heart full of dust
The place, the dwell of my wherever lost lust
The wheels and hooves of machines and beasts rolling over my head
My bones will be shaken with pain and dread
This is how it will be
If no one is going to take a heed of me
If into a shallow grave my tattered skeleton is thrust
Imagine only inches beneath a heavy traffic street bust
The gallop of horses and the trot of goats and cows
Will keep their relentless beat with a chorus of crows
Beat into my scalp and my brain
Like never an end to the stream of rushing ants under rain
Heedless of poor me carrying, traveling, hurrying, leaving
In my life I shun away from front busy street living
When the wretched age catch up with my bones
Not a bell will be rang, not a pray or eulogy will be read
It is that which makes us noble in the world of the dead
Just like this lowering me down to my eternal tomb bed?
Ah, my spirit where does it wander where does it pass
My soul where does it dwell in heaven or in hell
In the face of immortality and ancient laws unveil
Deep sleep, eternal doom comes to every sinew and lust
No more pleasant summer night dreams, no more morning first shine
But this eternal entity; all formless kingdom divine
Along my bones the creeping tattered flesh will quake
And my all damped besmeared hair stiffened with dust and thus it spake
Do you find God there in this colossus universe of ultimate justice pure
Or you be-left to deem and contemplate in land of spiritual desolation insecure
Among creatures of grave clay; the vain dwellers of tomb dust
A moth out survive you; a mold digs and borrows under your gravel rust
Things of normal routine day you never see nor attend the dusk of night
Heedless, stale and blind to wisdom and light
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Her Memories
NOT by her grave: thither I bid them take
Fresh garlands of the flowers that pleased her best,
And lay them by the headstone, for my sake,
My token and remembrance with the rest:
But here, where in the brightening of the west
I see her mountains grow into the sky,
Her native world, and mine because of her,
Here, where that low sigh of the pinewood's stir,
That was her dearest music, fills all sound
,I am with her;
And always, always, past comes passing by,
Lost in her grave, but here as if half found.
Not by her grave: it is too still, too cold,
And save my loss is nothing with me there.
What memories have I there of her of old?
They came not there, the dear lost days that were;
Not she lies there, but only my despair;
Not she, but death and all my loneliness.
What memories save all memories love must shun?
I would not think of death and her as one;
She shall be only life-ful in my mind,
With life's self one;
A name of glad remindings and old bliss,
So something of her presence left behind.
Not by her grave: some day will I return,
When sorrow keeps its wont unvexed by place,
And, sitting on the turf beside, will learn
To call before me there her waking face,
Not that white face that slept and took no trace
Of change because I kissed it, nor for tears.
Some day; for now I should forget her so,
Lose the fair happy woman and but know
The coldness and the silence when she died,
Lose her all so,
My love that was my life of all for years.
She loved this music when the pinewoods sighed.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Shall I ever let
Shall I ever let my fancy and dream to roam
To bring this rare pleasure and conjure it back home
At touch this pleasure and memory melts
Like bubbles of water when the rain pelts
Nature has withhold Catherine beauty across the wide skies
What an adornment for the human eyes for next thousands of years
She has taken their cream of beauty, fairest dyes
And shaped and tinted sweet Catherine above all peers
When I behold her on the earth descend
My heart begins to throb and to burn; only in pains
This is my fancy and dreams that melt and vanish; my sad life's end
Love has poured her slaying beauty into my veins
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The gloom of an hour
I have at times gnawing fears that my days may soon cease to be
Before my quill has exhausted itself in teeming my brain,
Before my high-piled books, in character, and in gallantry
Hold like rich wheat, the full ripened grain;
When I behold, upon the night's vault starred face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high youthful and fresh romance,
This blessed moon lending its sheen where I shall never trace
Its shadows, with the magic hand of zeal, rapture and chance;
And when I feel the air of a fair creature in the gloom of an hour,
That I shall never look upon or company my kinsmen more,
Never have relish in the fiery power and emotional tower
Of unreflecting love; youth on echoing dunes of an isolated shore
Of this stage wide world a human stands alone, and thinks
Where are all love moments and banners of praise
The human soul they try to cherish and to raise
No answer; his love collapses forgotten; his fame to nothingness sinks.
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Be Very Patient
Be very patient,
The potter's clay;
Be very wise,
The writer's pen;
Be very useful,
Of the muse of life with a living hope;
Let your yes be yes and your no be no.
Life is like the patience of Iyyob,
So abstain from fleshly lust;
Like the days of our visitations on this earth.
Sarah obeyed Abraham,
Like the sea and the seashore;
So established are the two witnesses.
Oh womb, womb, womb!
Oh bomb, bomb, bpomb! !
Oh tomb, tomb, tomb! ! !
Be very patient in this life.
Womb. bomb, tomb;
The womb is opened.
Womb, bomb, tomb;
The earth is defiled.
Womb, bomb, tomb;
The time of trouble on this earth with our muses.
Our bombs will shake the heavens,
And our sins will led us to our tombs;
As it is written in the Book Of Life like,
A child born today from the womb.
We came out of the womb and,
Many of us will be killed by the bombs! !
Which will finally send us into the tombs.
Read about the facts,
Learn about the truth,
Our days of darkness from the womb!
We came out of the womb and,
Are destroying the world with our bombs;
Soon, we will be buried in the tombs!
Womb, bomb, tomb;
Be very patient on this earth without hatred.
Lets be each others keeper,
Lets learn for the truth of all things;
Our days on this earth is still very short.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Today... 'Eternal Life
Eternal Life. Death has no hold on You
for a sinless life You lived Faithful and True.
When time shall cease and worlds no longer be
You shall live on throughout eternity.
This Life has appeared and was seen by men.
The Son of God has come and has given
understanding to know the One Who is true
for He Who was with the Father is You.
I have been to Your cross and seen You there
and cried out to You in my great despair.
'Forgive me Lord, I don't know what to do, '
you heard me cry as I confessed to You.
'It is finished, ' You cried upon the tree
as Your earthly life You gave up for me.
You exchanged my life for an endless one
and Eternal Life in me has begun.
Reaching out to me in great love You bear
my awful sins upon Your shoulders there.
Such healing I received at Calvary
and there Eternal Life began for me.
Death has been swallowed up in victory
no longer the grave has a hold on me.
Though once hell held captive and domineered
no longer its portals are to be feared.
No more shall life be three score years and ten
or limits placed upon the years of men.
For Christ came to this earth that blesséd day
and died to take the sting of death away.
Oh how can I thank You for Your mercy.
Nobody else has shown such love to me.
Please help me Lord her on this earth to show
by my life the debt of love that I owe.
(see also the additional information below in the Poet's box)
Who would be there to tell me
Who would be there to tell me
When I catch my falling star
where all my past years are
Many friends of mine in owe and plea
The ones I stirred for love like industrious bee
Here rests his head upon the lap of earth
A man to fortune and to fame is unknown
Fair science frowned not in his humble birth
And misfortune with melancholy marked him for their own
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere
Heaven did a recommence as largely said
He gave to misery all he had, a tear
He gained from Heaven, it was all he wished, he never fret
No further seek his merits to disclose
Or draw his frailties from their clear abode
There they alike in trembling hope repose
The bosom of his soul believes and God
Let the moon climb over the grave into the vaults of the skies
How silent is the world, and how with a wane dimming face
What, may it be that even in Heavenly eternal place
This divine archer, this Queen of the night her sharp arrows tries
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Night of dew and tangle
I recall a night of dew and tangle
As the dew fell on the cobweb from a wind at angle
To leave it threaded with stars
A night of scattering jewels on fences and pastures bars
As proud dawn rose against dry grass bright
Yet to come under human sight
And tangled boughs and weaved weeds
Bearing a rainbow gem on each of their seeds
Come again you blue dust of evening over slumbering city,
Over this ocean of roofs, walls, streets and tall towers
Where the window-lights innumerable claim skies without pity
And bloom from the walls like climbing flowers.
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Human rights are not a privilege granted by the few, they are a liberty entitled to all, and human rights, by definition, include the rights of all humans, those in the dawn of life, the dusk of life, or the shadows of life.
quote by Kay Granger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The School Of Life...
The place were much was learned; The School Of Life.
A far different place than papers, books, and homework.
The School of Life, is a never ending, when it comes to lessons.
In The School Of Life, I have learned, that not
all, is ever learned, or comprehended.
The School Of Life, often teaches one, some bitter and
disappointing lessons.
This school, reveals much in the way of surprises. Many
that of a happy nature and some, devastating.
Somehow, The School Of Life, teaches one, to keep going.
To try...try and try again. We learn that much is gained
through tenacity. We learn it matters not how many times
one is knocked down, for it is how many times we get
up, that is the test in this school.
We learn of mans inhumanity to man. We learn that in
helping our fellow human beings, there is much reward.
We learn, that The School Of Life, has no graduating day.
We learn, that we remain, an ongoing student of education.
The School Of Life, does have its rewards; a diploma of
knowledge, understanding and wisdom.
The School Of Life, better than any college in the world.
The School of Life, where knowledge is ones ticket to
anyplace in the world.
Learn ye well, for in The School Of Life, one does not
have the opportunity to repeat a grade.
The School Of Life
The place were much was learned; The School Of Life.
A far different place than papers, books, and homework.
The School of Life, is a never ending, when it comes to lessons.
In The School Of Life, I have learned, that not
all, is ever learned, or comprehended.
The School Of Life, often teaches one, some bitter and
disappointing lessons.
This school, reveals much in the way of surprises. Many
that of a happy nature and some, devastating.
Somehow, The School Of Life, teaches one, to keep going.
To try...try and try again. We learn that much is gained
through tenacity. We learn it matters not how many times
one is knocked down, for it is how many times we get
up, that is the test in this school.
We learn of mans inhumanity to man. We learn that in
helping our fellow human beings, there is much reward.
We learn, that The School Of Life, has no graduating day.
We learn, that we remain, an ongoing student of education.
The School Of Life, does have its rewards; a diploma of
knowledge, understanding and wisdom.
The School Of Life, better than any college in the world.
The School of Life, where knowledge is ones ticket to
anyplace in the world.
Learn ye well, for in The School Of Life, one does not
have the opportunity to repeat a grade.
Higher Education...
The place were much was learned; The School Of Life.
A far different place than papers, books, and homework.
The School of Life, is a never ending, when it comes to lessons.
In The School Of Life, I have learned, that not
all, is ever learned, or comprehended.
The School Of Life, often teaches one, some bitter and
disappointing lessons.
This school, reveals much in the way of surprises. Many
that of a happy nature and some, devastating.
Somehow, The School Of Life, teaches one, to keep going.
To try...try and try again. We learn that much is gained
through tenacity. We learn it matters not how many times
one is knocked down, for it is how many times we get
up, that is the test in this school.
We learn of mans inhumanity to man. We learn that in
helping our fellow human beings, there is much reward.
We learn, that The School Of Life, has no graduating day.
We learn, that we remain, an ongoing student of education.
The School Of Life, does have its rewards; a diploma of
knowledge, understanding and wisdom.
The School Of Life, better than any college in the world.
The School of Life, where knowledge is ones ticket to
anyplace in the world.
Learn ye well, for in The School Of Life, one does not
have the opportunity to repeat a grade.
There will come
There will come upon the earth, calm spring time
When soft rains fall and raise the adores of wet ground
And flowers leap and bloom into their prime
As the swallows circle and bounce in vast meadows, shimmering sound
And no one will know of my time under the sun
And no one will reflect or contemplate of my days, not one
Not even one would mind, neither happy bird on a bough tree
That I have perished; erased diminished with no memory utterly
Come red black Robins and wear your feathery fire,
Whistling your whims on a low summer wind stirring fence-wire
And fat oily frogs in a garden pool, sing your rhythm all night
And tree heavy with late season foliage play the wind that turn you white
The world will go on as we do when an acquaintance dies
We hurry to burry and move as if it never concerns our fates; blinding our eyes
Oh that first Spring after death, herself when she wakes at dawn
Minding her course would scarcely notice that we were gone.
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