A dull grey morning blanketed in a slight fog <br />a coldness that made the air like ice <br />as it entered my lungs <br />everything is quiet as I walk <br />down the narrow pathway <br />lined with curved stones, <br />engraved with forgotten souls <br /> <br />the whispers of the dearly departed <br />float through the air with the wind <br />they ask me questions I dare not answer <br />the path ends and the last stone sits silently, <br />withering away as the seconds pass <br /> <br />the whispers grow louder in my head <br />as I stare at the name, barely visible <br />on the rough dark stone <br />a name I shant forget for as long as I live, <br />a name only I remember <br /> <br />the whispers stop, as did the wind <br />the air gets thicker and colder, <br />my breath is strained <br /> <br />I see her then <br />standing behind the tombstone, <br />smiling slightly down on me <br />the gentle hand, I have longed for <br />stretches towards me <br /> <br />I run to take it <br />to feel her warmth again <br />as my hand comes close <br />to touching hers, <br />its gone <br /> <br />shes gone <br />I drop to the ground, <br />and weep for the <br />Dearly Departed<br /><br />Hayley Pullen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dearly-departed-5/
