Graves

Do the graves vibrate deep in the earth 
when a church bell rings?  

Are they untouched, 
the final sleep at last?

Do they tremble and quake just a little?
Unbothered by the rumble and undertones

The tombs spread out like a picnic blanket
A quilt of patchwork of names and dates

Important perhaps
Everlasting

Beyond one human life 
a remembrance for loved ones

Do they linger and visit here; 
or is it a forgotten, sacred land 

that outlived its purpose 
or its loved ones’ memory?

Why keep a milestone etched 
and mark up the land 

who once was and never will be?
The purpose outlasted us all

Time is cruel and nonlinear
How can that be?

The river streams and overflows no more 
and the dying are laid to rest

We hold their memory 
whether we go to a sacred place or not

What is sacred is personal anyway

I like to stand among the stones of lives 
forgotten and long moved on

Like a reunion of lives maybe lost 
but a legacy of sorts still lives on