The Grave

The Grave

The ground was cold, the grass was wet,

The sky hung low with weight of rain,

A name half-hidden by the moss,

Spoke softly of a life and pain.

I knelt beside the crumbled stone,

And brushed the dirt from faded years,

The letters carved by trembling hands,

Were blurred by time and human tears.

I wondered if the soul still knew,

The flowers left, the prayers once said,

If echoes reach the ones below,

Or only haunt the hearts that bled.

The earth beneath my hand was warm,

As if it pulsed with secret breath,

And for a moment I could feel,

The tender side of silent death.

No cries, no wails, no angel’s call,

Just peace that felt both wrong and kind,

A gentle hum that filled the air,

And silenced torment in my mind.

I thought of all the ones I’d lost,

Their laughter fading, one by one,

And how the grave, though still and dark,

Holds all the souls that light had shunned.

Then rain began to fall again,

The stone looked clean, the name reborn,

And though I left, my spirit stayed,

To keep the dead from feeling torn.

The grave is not an end, I learned,

It’s just the place where truth can rest,

Where time steps back, where sorrow sleeps,

And love still beats within the chest.

My dear reader, thank you for your support and letting me share with you the love of my life, an insight into my thoughts, feelings, and life. God bless you