It was a bright and blinding day as I watched the old man toil,
Giving light and air to the long forgotten soil.
He shoveled and he smiled, for he was the only one,
Who knew where I was and I was not alone.
For he was my companion, the only one to see,
The specter before him, while the apparition was me.
He spoke on for hours, and I could never reply,
My voice was so silent, I heard nothing, but sighs.
For he had known, long before I realized,
The kindest way of knowing, lay hidden in his eyes
I looked to the old man, as he looked my way,
The only statement I could breathe, "Are you digging my grave?"

Another shovel of earth, tossed into the air,
I could hear him speaking, all I could do was stare.
I couldn’t understand his words, although his eyes said it all,
How long had I been there, waiting for that fall?
Oh, my dear friend, how good of you to speak to me,
I once was bound by life, now I am free.
I don’t know the man, talking with the ghost,
I have never met you, my unfamiliar host,
White robes and dreams of silence, no I am not enslaved,
I simply watch the old man, "Are you digging my grave?"

The ceaseless noise of existence, now silent to me,
Now, I am non-existent, and he is my company.
The light that comforted, is now my embrace,
And the caress of moonlight, always touches my face.
How can I make you understand? I know that I am safe,
Even though I watch you, as you dig my grave.

Sweet dreams my dearly departed, for I am with you now,
Fall gentle curtain, as you drape upon my brow.
For that green-eyed monster has long since gone away,
Now, there is only silence, every step of that way.
As I walked my journey, with death in footsteps behind,
I felt that hand of mercy that ended all of my time.
So, my dear friend, I can’t hear what you say,
But, I know you are talking to me, while you dig my grave...

©1995, Laura Chambers-Wright. All rights reserved. This poem, or any part therein, may not be copied or transmitted by any means without prior written consent from the author.