Bones of memory rot slowly
Past fetid acts buried
Weeds of guilt sprout around a crypt of the past
Concrete of denial crumbles in storms of time
Revealing decayed shame
Reeking of remorse, that wafts on conscience's breeze
A fallen headstone of the past
Lies face down under rubble
Where flies now prey on moldering dirt
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Author:
sorenbarrett (
Online) - Published: October 21st, 2025 03:42
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 64
- Users favorite of this poem: Soman Ragavan, Friendship, Paul Bell, Tristan Robert Lange, GenXer Shamrocker ☘️
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Comments8
Some folk just don't seem to feel any shame, remorse or guilt whatsoever .. I'm not sure whether they are the lucky ones because karma is always waiting in the wings & ever hungry .. If I'm wrong, I'll hold my hand up and be counted .. I still think we have something here .. Neville 👍
Thank you Neville as we write scraps fall out.
My friend, I’ve seen how time always exhumes what’s been hidden. You frame that inevitability with grim beauty...like conscience wearing a miner’s lamp. Very well done! 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thank you my friend for your review and kind words. Always appreciated
You are most welcome!
That fallen headstone is very symbolic. The person must have met rejections in his lifetime. With time even his headstone fell, face down in the mud. Thus, even after our death, we might have to face neglect, if not humiliation. IN some ways, a cremation is better. The ashes are dispersed…. With a burial, through an extraordinary coincidence, one might be buried in the very grave that held his enemy. The bones will mingle and rub against each other….
From my poem “The Gravedigger” :
“Down to their very bones, the living spurn one another :
Yonder, the bones of the dead silently rub and rot together.
The creepy crawlies vulgarly do we swat off the living :
Now, with pleasure, at leisure, on the dead be they dining.”
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Thank you Soman for the review and interpretation. Yes after death it matters only for the living, buried with friend of foe, family or other makes no difference to me dust to dust I say it is no longer me.
I must note that your writing style has changed. Well written. Sorenbarrett.Your poem "Scattered" examines the interplay between memory, guilt, and the deterioration of the past. It contemplates how repressed memories and unresolved emotions, particularly guilt and shame, can persist and intensify over time, influencing one's conscience and emotional well-being. Furthermore, your poem probes the remnants of past actions, symbolized metaphorically through bones and decay. This underscores the notion that past transgressions can haunt individuals, and that denial can lead to a fragile facade, ultimately revealing profound emotional truths.
Thank you very much Friendship for the read and most on point interpretation. Yes it is indeed metaphoric and guilt and shame may deteriorate or stink in the process. Exposed bones and a fallen tombstone indications of neglect either by the person with guilt or by those around reveal the putrification of the process. I appreciate your understanding words my friend.
You're very welcome, my friend. And thank you for your kind words, Sorenbarrett
The bones of memory rest for ever in the catacombs of time .
Thank you Lorenz appreciate the read and yes it is true the bones do rest there
Good write SB. And some more wonderful recipes for when I prepare KP's meals. lol.
Thanks so much Orchi feel free to use them just add a little seasoning to give flavor.
People have long memories, and even in death they want your blood.
Nothing it seems is sacred in graveyards now, as we've seen in countries where statues get pulled down, stomped on.
Even history has to paid for in the death stakes.
Thanks so much Paul yes since the dead can not stand up for themselves they often get walked on.
Memories will always be with you soren.
Andy
Thank you Andy I appreciate your words of encouragement. Some seem to remain better than other and if good that is wonderful.
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