Among The Bed of Forgotten Souls

I lay among your pieces
of concrete ridges smoothed
into the soil, that’s cracked and dry.

Your remains lie still
among the withered flesh
of others before you that
God struck down.

Footsteps converse around your rest,
a patchwork of embroidered imprints,
finally driven away by the angel’s tears
who mourn the empty of heart.

Nature’s décor adorns your parts,
as the red rose bleeds the ground
like that of a wrist carved by metal.

The wind sings the names of those
who sleep below the living’s tread,
an awful burden to harp the names,
who many have forgotten were never once dead.