All
cemeteries hold mysteries.
we wonder who the people were
and how they lived their lives.
all we have is the from and to
and not
what happened in between
what stories lay now beneath our feet
grown over in grass and weeds
we feel for those who have their stones
kicked or fallen over
left to sad neglect
the ones who no one tends
and no one remembers
A life should never be forgotten
we hear them talking
stop here
read my stone
say my name
pause for just a moment
acknowledge me
we will all end up here someday
all essence of our existence buried
left in some lonely forlorn place
only the wind sings a hymn
in praise of those who passed
Mysteries with no answers
histories lost to time
such singular lives
now turned to ash and bone
having no one left
to come to pray
and nothing left to say.
© d.knape
October
24, 2016
More "Once Upon A Line" - Light verse and
poetry by d.knape
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