Write Upon My Stone

Kiss the Cold Stone

Kiss the Cold Stone

©2014, Olan L. Smith

Who looms over my grave?

Come closer kiss the cold stone.

You breathe; I am not envious,

But know I have stood

Precisely where you plunk your feet,

And wondered of my demise; death came in stillness,

I felt my spirit being ripped from my mortal flesh.

Very soon you will too, it matters not if you are

Asleep or awake; you will certainly suffer

The moment of your rebirth;

I am not beneath your feet, and

It is I who sheds tears for you.

You still wonder what world comes

Next; I already know, I see clearly

It is you whose vision is clouded.

People will fight over what you thought

Was yours, scattering your possessions to the four

Corners, like so much junk what was

Yours now is someone else's. Photographs

Of love ones, their faces the next owner will not

Know. A loving soul preserves them, others

Will toss your pictures in the trash,

What remains of you on earth? An icy stone;

A grave, bones, ashes, dust...nothing more.

If others write of you, perhaps your effort

Will endure another generation, or two,

A few carve their life on all things.

What good does this life possess if not

As a memory in the minds of others? Some mortals till

The soil, a few stir the stars to the

Movement of their will, and then we have

Those who fashion stars; they created us.