Epitaphs.

There are empty chairs in my memories, my friends are gone
no one is left to forgive me, since I have long since moved on.
There is no space in my narrow bed, no one to love me,
no one to remember how it made them feel when would kiss,
only the vacancy waiting, only the ghost-like absence
of what it was supposed to be.

There are empty tables I no longer can recollect or recall,
someone should have shared a cup of comfort, but that is all,
There is no place for pity, no words that can make it alright,
no one will look to where I stood waiting, my shadow
against the light, the abysmal disappoint, only the void
stark against the wall.

There is no room left for regrets, no epitaph to engrave on stone,
the graveyards stand in silence, the grass and weeds overgrown.
There is no face to behold in the mind's inner eye,
no pronouncement of mercy, just the loss of pace
to mark that we are passing through this life,
no answers are given, no reasons why.

I wish upon a star, I pray in cliches from afar
there goes the long black car, should funerals
take place in the rain, the sun must abstain,
the words are read, the blessings are said,
no one returns anymore, to whispers
these secrets to the dead.