walking through the graveyard

The somnolent dead

reposed with etched markers offset

By plastic flowers faking life

While the plastic interred dare forget.

My soul mirrors

These marred markers of death

I can’t escape the verdigris

That colors my soul, coloring each breath.

An old lady appears

And asks me where her husband is,

I walk away to walk

And leave her reticent with her abyss.

Then, how cliché;

He eyes me steely black and flies

From a crumbling stoop,

Taking my mortal serenity that dies.