Desperate for A Grave

 

 

He was sitting on my grave

And I was desperate to get back in,

I had been out all night

And the dawn was coming.

 

I had not been dead long

So I had not been used to this,

I had been so intent on roaming

That I didn’t consider the risk.

 

I could go and come as I please

But must be back before dawn,

Only one single rule to keep

And I had been forewarned.

 

The night that was in question

I had returned to my recent haunts,

I had no special mission in mind;

I just went for a casual jaunt.

 

I was already missing the place

And I stayed a little too long

But on returning to my grave

Everything was going wrong.

 

I had lost my vocal chords

And I knew he could not hear me,

And since I could see him clearly

I felt he could also see.

 

Don’t forget, I was not long dead

And I was not yet used to this

So I had returned to my old district

Quite unaware of the risk.

 

We were never to be seen

When we went on our nightly roam

Hence, long before the dawn,

We were to be back home.

 

 

I sat on a grave nearby

And enquired from the resident within,

Meanwhile the dawn was quickly approaching

And I needed to get back in.

 

I asked if it had happened to him

And what did he actually do,

He said never in a hundred years

And I don’t know what to tell you.

 

Meanwhile he sat on my grave

With me trying to get back in

Smoking cigarette after cigarette

And got my grave like a bin.

 

By this time the smoke was killing me;

I could hardly breathe

Which reminds me when I broke the habit

I had been quite relieved.

 

I could see he had some problems

For he was talking to himself,

And for a man who was not yet dead

He was really in poor health.

 

By the way it had been raining

And he was soaked through to the bone,

All the more reason why he should leave

So I could get back in my home.

 

Nor even suicide could help me

Since I was already dead,

And I could not even have a headache

For in my grave I had left my head.

 

And my body for that matter

So I had no physical pain

But this mental anguish I was experiencing

I would never leave my grave again.

 

Whereupon I heard my neighbour,

“That is why it’s never happened to me.

I’ve been quite content to stay in my grave;

I am free from roaming free.

 

 

Many have sat on my grave

But they have never troubled me,

I had had enough of life out there

And there is no more for me to see.

 

“Can I share your grave with you?”

I asked rather pleadingly.

“Sure you can, my young deceased friend,

As long as you bring your body.”

 

“But my body is in my grave

And for right now I cannot get back in,

And I must confess I can’t deal with smoke

The man is on my grave smoking.

 

“You are newly dead, I have perceived.”

“But how did you know that?”

Because your body is still intact;

Isn’t that a fact?

 

It is quite obvious to me

You have not accepted your death

And that is the very reason

That you got up and left.

 

And now you are afraid

That the dawn will catch you outside,

I bet that you have even considered

Committing suicide.”

 

“But how can you know this?

I have never spoken with you

You are spot on my aged friend

Now tell me what to do.”

 

“I’ve been around a long time

And I know what not to do,

I stay in my grave

And you should have done that too.

 

As to what you should do

I haven’t a clue,

Find somebody older and wiser

And get another view.

 

 

This conversation is now ended

So, please get up off my grave,

The living can sit there upon

But of the dead I am terribly afraid.”

  

So, here I am

With the dawn approaching

And this man is sitting on my grave

And unsuspectingly smoking.

 

I would give anything

Just to change places with him

I am desperate for my grave

And I just want to get in.

 

If only I could get back in my grave

I would never leave again,

Given this anguish I am experiencing

I would rather have pain.

 

I was restless in life

Now I am restless in death,

My body lies in my grave

And I have nothing left.

 

Desperate for a grave

The living has taken mine,

Now it appears I must roam

For the rest of time.

 

Stewart Russell © August 25, 2020