The perfidy of man oft’ begs release
So I walk ‘mongst the dead...cold faceless stones
Here where land meets grief I find inner peace
Six feet above a collection of bones
Aged crypts, mossy tombstones lost in time
Once neoteric, chiseled from granite
Why “living” man find a graveyard sublime?
The “lies” here… horizontal to planet
Row upon row muted grave voices greet me
Doth tongue so expire with the final breath?
Perchance soon I’ll come humbly to meet thee
Existence is echo of pending death
When marble orchard calls I’ll flee man’s lust
The living decieve…In the dead…I trust
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