The Wailing Dead

They come and gaze with sad love
The stones that bear our names
The living in a field of the dead
They do not smell the stench of grave air
They do not breathe the reek of grave breath
No, they mourn, they kneel, they talk to us
We hear with rotting ears their words
But they do not know we listen
To them, we are gone, but we are still here
For all eternity we roam this field of monuments
Their living eyes cannot see us
They do not see us wandering aimlessly
They cannot see the children running and playing
One from 1629, the other from 2025
Holding hands and skipping through the garden
The living do not know that we see them
With our withered and dry eyes
We watch them grieve and remember
And we adore with our dusty hearts
The lovely flowers they leave for us
We watch the young people come
With their friends, after night takes over
Their teasing and taunting would make us laugh
But our jaws crumbled long ago
So with no emotions left
No destination to arrive to
Nary a goal to accomplish
We roam the stones and monuments