My mind is a graveyard

My mind is a cemetery.

a graveyard,

moonlit, filled to the brim

like a silver goblet

full of tears,stardust,

ash and rose oil,

camphor,

frankincense,

myrrh,

pine,

oak moss,

book dust,

ink splatter,

names

that no longer

resonate

in the minds

of the living.

My mind is a graveyard

forever locked

in the times

of decorum,

nobility,

rules,

social graces,

double morals,

freedom of mind

and bankruptcy

of the spirit.

My memory

is bound

to the ledgers,

steel and smoke,

mirrors and mist,

oxidized metal

of stone filled

sighs

of the days

gone by.

My mind is a graveyard,

my ribcage-

a home

whence

blooms

the last

rose

of summer

that never came.