Who Guides This Hand?

grave, grave cold and grey awaiting my bones to rest some day forlorn faces at graveside weep unaware- I am not asleep I stand among you unseen, for sure but my life-force continues, it does endure the impressions I have left- will fade fast with time- they always do but you're not alone- I'm always there with you the words are written by those unseen hands only they can jot these penciled words for I have not... Hand guided by those long since gone admidst the mists of time- forlorn for they are not upon one's mind. alas, no more, their death, their stillness of this I'm sure these penciled words they call out to you for a moments reflection, you know that they do to mourn, to cherish to remember oh, so well I know not more I must go on I must endure this pain of seperation now someday will surely fade of this I trust- as surely as my bones- shall one day turn to dust.