Cemetery | Teen Ink

Cemetery

January 28, 2012
By lookingformargo SILVER, Ithaca, New York
lookingformargo SILVER, Ithaca, New York
8 articles 0 photos 2 comments

Favorite Quote:
A child said, &quot;What is the grass?&quot; fetching it to me with full hands; How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he. I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven... and now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. -Walt Whitman, Leaves Of Grass<br /> <br /> <br /> We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. We think that we are invincible because we are. We cannot be born, and we cannot die. Like all energy, we can only change shapes and sizes and manifestations. They forget that when they get old. They get scared of losing and falling. But that part of us greater than the sum of our parts cannot begin and cannot end, and so it cannot fail. -Looking For Alaska<br /> <br /> Here&#039;s what&#039;s not beautiful about it: from here, you can&#039;t see the rust or the cracked paint or whatever, but you can tell what the place really is. You see how fake it all is. It&#039;s not even hard enough to be made out of plastic. It&#039;s a paper town. I mean look at it, Q: look at all those cul-de-sacs, those streets that turn in on themselves, all the houses that were built to fall apart. All those paper people living in their paper houses, burning the future to stay warm. All the paper kids drinking beer some bum bought for them at the paper convenience store. Everyone demented with the mania of owning things. All the things paper-thin and paper-frail. And all the people, too. I&#039;ve lived here for eighteen years and I have never once in my life come across anyone who cares about anything that matters. -Paper Towns<br /> <br /> It is so hard to leave&mdash;until you leave. And then it is the easiest goddamned thing in the world. -Paper Towns<br /> <br /> Elsewhere the landscape is more frank.<br /> The light falls without letup, blindingly. - A Life, Sylvia Plath


This place is a cemetery
And when I depart
I will cover it all in a layer of white paint, then dirt
And plant seeds
So one day grass may grow
And children who stumble upon it
Will not be afraid of the bodies below
But rather see a beautiful hill where they can play

This place is a cemetery
And when I depart
I will take with me shoes I can walk in
A book of poems I know by heart
And read for comfort anyway
I will take everything I own and everything I am
And pack myself up in a suitcase
And walk in a straight line without turning back

This place is a cemetery
And when I depart
Those that are here, the living and the dead
Shall not hear of me again
Through letters or visits
But perhaps
If I become renowned in another, far-away place
They will hear tales of me
And they will wonder at how far I have come

This place is a cemetery
And when I depart
It shall be for good
I shall not return when I die
Because cemeteries are not for the living or the dead
And I don't wish to sleep among the graves



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This article has 1 comment.


on Mar. 11 2012 at 8:41 pm
Missy1999 SILVER, Windermere, Florida
7 articles 0 photos 33 comments

Favorite Quote:
John 3:16

You're writing is really mature and impressive:) I'm still working on mine:p