In the Fields of Lost Stories
A frigid surface blanketed by snow,
headstones shimmer in the light,
glistening marble and granite are
icy shadows sporting lost names.
Herein lay stories of the past,
heroes, beggars, rich and poor alike,
as the ground knows no difference
between them, it makes for a quiet rest.
Wrapped roots entwine around casket chambers;
sarcophagi nestled near earth’s center.
Life’s roads end meets Gaia’s womb once again;
etheric stories no longer read aloud.
Though alas, listen to the silence!
Listen long enough and you can hear those stories,
whispered among the slumbering dreamers,
for nothing ever really dies; it simply changes.
I walk here to learn as, all life speaks.
In the air, the very essence of the earth
and the trees; echoes from the ground reverberate
within the winter winds; the silence has much to say.
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