Demise of Man

Smoky spirals of dawn’s mist meandering along breezes path, refracting the sheen of night suns rays. Draping willow kisses meres surface, unknowing angler enticing fishes below. Age old oaken boughs, twisted, gnarled, Reflecting time they have lived. Seemingly waiting to strike the unwary, should they stray to close. Frosted diamonded adornment; pathway blazes cold white, leading to lych-gate sentry standing stolid, emotionless in dawns gathering birth. No biers rest here, just the stains of long past sorrow. Saviours cross, lichen shrouded, a symbol to love, peace; nothing now, but a tainted auspice, harbinger of unknown. (Death resides here, forcing its place amongst the world surrounding it, fear protecting the boundaries. No person can enter without feeling cold hand of fate, rest upon their shoulder.) Secreted in shadows, almost lost against the wall, A lonesome stone stands. Still proud. Still straight, yet …. …. sadness extrudes from its solitude. In a sea of epitaphs, here, bare stone waits, indefatigable. For a day will come when words will be carved upon this facet. No one will read those fresh, harsh words, For they will proclaim the demise of man.