DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE Poetry: Bone Yard, by Terry Boyle
New Releases
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1m 10s
Performed by Val Cole
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POEM:
I’m tired of piling up the dead
in this bone yard called grief.
You stack the dead your way,
and I in mine.
There’s no good way to do it
that doesn’t leave you feeling undone.
The longer I live, the more
I see life falling down around me,
and it weighs heavily on the heart.
It’s impossible to carry them all.
Bury or cremate their form,
it makes no difference.
It’s the shape of them that stays with you.
They’re imprinted on your soul.
I watch as she sniffs the ground,
detecting your scent until...
it is no more.
Soon, you’ll disappear from her senses,
and my tears will dry up,
but you must never let me be.
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