[Poem] "Bouquets for the Buried"

[Ophi 258]

    “Bouquets for the Buried”
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They bring flowers to the lifeless,
Lay them gently on the stone,
Speak the words they should have spoken
Back when hearts still beat at home.

 

Roses tied with silk and sorrow,
Lilies pale as winter skies,
Funny how love grows the strongest
Only after someone dies.

 

While the living sit in silence,
Starving slowly for the sun,
Watching others pass straight by them
Like they’re shadows no one wants.

 

No one sends bouquets at midnight
To the soul that barely sleeps,
No one praises quiet battles
Or the grief a person keeps.

 

People wait.

 

They wait for caskets,
For the guilt to settle in,
For the sickening realization
They could have loved: but never did.

 

Because gratitude is gentle.
Soft.
Easy to delay.
But regret arrives like thunder
That refuses to fade away.

 

And suddenly the dead are precious.
Suddenly their names taste gold.
Suddenly every memory matters
Once there’s no hand left to hold.

 

It is tragic, almost funny,
How the heart works far too late,
How we learn to water flowers
Only at the foot of graves.

 

So love the living while they’re living.
Speak before the silence spreads.
Because the cruelest thing about regret
Is that it blooms among the dead.
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