Clouds, grey and foreboding hang heavy as my heart.

This unsculpted field of weeds and stone lays before me,

Watered by tears and sorrow,

Sadness of lost love, loss of cherished companions,

Lives sacrificed to the natural or tragic.

It matters not how or why to this pain so intense,

For with each thought of death the abyss broadens,

Taking miniscule pieces of us beyond.

Flowers once vibrant dry and blacken,

Bowing before their marble master in death.

Refreshed for a time, but soon forgotten,

Left to crumble and scatter in the wind.

Not for lack of caring or sympathy, but resign,

No more to pursue this self-torment and pity.

What good does it do for those passed,

Is not life to be walked amongst the living?

Leaving the dead to their eternal rest;

We will reunite with those beyond our touch,

One day, in the place of our faith,

Joined together in a future unknown.

~

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~