Tombs

I once believed graves beautiful, Magnificent scrawls repeating life after death. Bleached white and glowing brilliantly, Glossy stone records the Passed's name distinct. Undergrowth feebly caress its vertical walls, While flowers bloomingly tell of the unknown's forgiveness. The forked crack speaks of ceasing hardships And its wholeness repeats enduring restoration. But, alas! the sun's set. Its brilliance smothered in gloom. The Name, one beyond judgement, Haunts the Onlooker from its chiseled chasm. The crack no longer sputters coherent, Only terrorizes with its perverseness. Roses sometime will grow to be magnificent, But the coming chill will wither her utterly. No longer can I see this process of salvation, My eyes become blind by their disillusioned tears. I cry out for my lonely body, Its chest weighed down by six feet of dust.