The cold stones remind us
that the words engraved
were once more than just names,
that once, they lived and
breathed as we do today.
the walls take our
grief and despair in
only to return them after.
for far beyond our sight,
they watch us
from behind carved walls
from beneath the grass growing
from beyond the houses
that box them in.
and they see our faces -
blank, serious, sad
- and they think of us
as those who have yet
to see or feel
the cold, dark landscape of death.
