Grounds For Morning


How repulsive the sweet scent of flowers quickly becomes
as they sour and shrivel,
exposed to the rain and the cold,
pressed against the rough, weathered stone.

How strange it is to trace shaking fingers along the dates
delicately engraved around the dash;
to touch the name instead of speak it, as it has been
taken off my lips and set firmly in the ground.

How bitter the wind as it cuts through the trees,
scattering leaves across the wet, hallowed ground,
muting the music, brushing away the tears of the crowd
in their final goodbyes.

How unsettling it feels to stand surrounded by souls,
to be embraced by loved ones,
and still know loneliness
no matter the size of the company.

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