crumbling stone grave markers,
their
letters shifting uncomfortably under the relentless gaze of time
and strangers eyes
allowing their engraved numbers to be wholly distorted
time creating the most abstract of ideas,
this man died 100 years ago. 200
I can barely comprehend seventeen
everyone rock was once a life
a father, a mother
a face and a personality
a story
a struggle to survive on this drifting space rock
and one day
will be a rock with my name on it
and beneath six feet of earth
time will wash away everything
and i might be pure,
I could be totally erased.
In untouchable blankness. sleeping soundly beneath the wet blanket of a
heavy, chaotic earth.