Where Ghosts Go To Die

I stumbled on it one afternoon
high in an autumn desert
a quiet valley
a trickling stream
an abandoned village
of sad sagging frames
empty and wind blown
sunburned and parched
and dead

In the center
a collapsed storefront
a rusted forge
and off a ways
above the creek
a small cemetery no one
has visited in years

Headstones toppled
sand and grass and sagebrush
no fresh flowers
not a single plastic bouquet
the empty pathways
the untended markers
forgotten memorials

No one comes to visit
to reminisce
or take photos
no one is left or cares enough
to talk about them anymore
no one remembers

This village lost to time
its abandoned homes
and forgotten graves
a perfect place to lay it down
to finally slip away

Marv Himmel
August 4, 2017 ©

Photo by Arno Jenkins @ www.arnojenkins.com

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