Cemetery
Stones are carved
Shaped into endless hills upon hills
The narrow pathways divide and
Wind like veins
Emptied of blood
There are no trees
No life that springs from happy soils
Except memories clung desperately to loved ones
Else they are forgotten
Who are we but our memories?
Without them we are a nameless grave
We will all end here.
Copyright © Laura Hassell | Year Posted 2011
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