A Crowd of Silent Souls
Standing among a crowd of silent souls,
treading over remains of lives once whole.
Peering at chiseled dates, stories untold,
vases with beautiful flowers to hold.
What had once felt warm now seems deathly cold,
all that was young has been deemed now the old.
Death has crossed Life's invisible threshold
and its breath this thief has brazenly stole.
Promises of latter years, would be gold,
now appear to be a bit oversold.
Leaving the once carefree and ever so bold,
to be froze in Decay's total control.
A thought has rooted and taken a hold,
on every man time will take a great toll.
11/19/18
Copyright © Wren Rushing | Year Posted 2018
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