Monuments

While visiting the grave of a friend I lost to God, I found there one marked only by a tag. Set in the sand on a thin steel rod, With all the posture of a paper bag. I paused, but soon after, passed this pathetic sight, My thoughts on my own death to be, And hoped deep within, when I’d lose my light, That there would be a monument of me. I came upon a statue, higher than myself, Weighing at the base at least a ton. I knew, very well, that my collected wealth, Could make a bigger and a better one. But soon I saw a woman crying, A red rose in her hand She fell as if her soul was dying, Then calmly kissed the sand. I noticed she was lying at the grave, I saw before. The one with just a label there to show. The one that by my pride, so quick I would ignore, But then I greater wisdom I would know. The greatest structure for a man, isn’t made of stone, Erosion will alleviate its goal. The thing that will survive is the love that he has shown. -The true composition of the soul.