An effigy atop a stone has fixed its gaze on me
Itinerant intruder in this city of the dead
As growing stillness slowly stifles all thoughts in my head
‘Til I can almost hear the soft, sepulchral inquiry
Why do you come to such a place to spend an afternoon?
I know the answer as I walk past graves with flowers strewn.
While noting markers lined in rows or clustered into groups
I hover over history to see who slumbers where
A founding father, matriarch, mass-murderer or mayor
While epitaphs illegible, like missing combat troops
Demand imagination more than those that clearly tell.
I'm beckoned by the symmetry of tombstones great and small
With angels capped, whose silent trumpets sound the final call
Proud monuments and mausoleums striving to excel
Alongside sunken, crumbling markers grappling with the vines.
Still wondering and wandering, I ponder fate's designs
And grieve with all young parents, widows, widowers and friends
Who came to visit frequently, until they came no more
Because the sight of loved ones' graves grew harder to endure.
So seeking no acknowledgement, I am the one who sends
Those lasting tributes, last regards and prayers for fleeting souls.
And finally, I feel a peace that can not be obtained
Through mortal slumber, quiet walks or thoughts of riches gained.
I envy those no longer plagued by superficial goals
Unburdened by those worldly woes that life so blithely doles.
© August 30, 2004 by Allan M. Heller
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