Passing the graveyard.
Passing by the graveyard.
Passing the Graveyard.
Passing the graveyard,
silence hovers, engulfing the living loud—
a presence thick and loudly quiet,
settling over old cold stones
where surface is now conquered by moths.
Each headstone stands,
a marker of what once was—
a life,
full of muscle and dreams,
promise and pursuit,
now condensed to a name carved on a rock.
Beneath each name lies a story,
unspoken, you could almost hear it, if you stopped to listen;
dreams that soared,
some fulfilled,
some stillborn or
Words that were whispered,
or left unsaid or
Steps that mattered,
or drifted into the void of neglect.
It is only a matter of time,
soon we are all stones, headstones with a name,
The wind carries no answers,
but it urges a question:
What will they remember
when they stand at your stone?
Will they whisper your name,
or merely pass by,
your memory lost to the erosion of time?
Ash to ash, dust to dust—
such is the fate of all,
but what of the moments between?
The laughter that spilled across summer fields,
the touch that anchored someone to love,
the dreams chased into the corners of dawn?
Life, fleeting as a shadow in the evening sun,
demands to be cherished.
Every heartbeat a gift,
every breath a chance.
Each relationship, a beautiful thread in the fabric of eternity.
It is not ours, it's not given to waste the days
on bitterness and regret,
but to fill the air with words of kindness,
fill the earth with deeds of worth.
Chase the dreams
that call to run,
to leap,
to dare.
For when the sun sets,
and time stops and dust must return to the dust,
the glory left must be more than stone—
a thousand breaths that carried hope,
a hundred dreams that brushed the stars,
a life that spilled into others,
like rivers feeding the vast unknown.
Passing the graveyard,
I wonder:
What echoes will remain when silence falls?
What stories will the wind carry?
And when my name is no longer spoken,
will the world feel even the faintest tremor
of the life I tried to live?
EzroniX Poetry.
