The Crypt

What a house that has no door,

Sealed from the world forevermore.

No name to go with a face,

So slate to indicate 

When he became 'Late'

Granite pillars rising from the ground,

the only things surviving contact

With that which shall never be found.

Formidable, The Crypt,

where even the stairsteps cry,

it is strange, the thoughts,

the mind screams out 'Why?'

This Crypt curdles flowers,

Grass fades within hours.

What could have been done,

for them to be forgotten?

Indeed,

It must have been something

Very Rotten.