The cobblestones wind through the dull, trampled grass and trees with dying leaves.
Shadows of gravestones waver against the ground below.
Black spires stand guard around the crumbling marble graves.


Sunlight creates a warm afternoon glow as it peeks around the ominous clouds.
Dull colors of the past blend in with a bleak, threatening sky.
A flash of vibrancy occasionally interrupts the dull of the cemetery.

An eerie silence blankets the earth creating a feeling of loss.
The tour guide mumbles, but can not be heard clearly above such a deafening silence.
The quiet is occasionally broken by hushed whispers in respect for the dead.
The grass crunches under our feet as we solemnly march to the next headstone.


The chilly breeze sends shivers down my spine.
I become overwhelmed by feelings of remorse and sorrow for people that I never knew.
I am vaguely aware of a pillow of grass separating my feet from the cold soil.
The lives and souls of over 8,000 people buried around me surround me.


What lives were left behind?
Who has come and wept at this grave?
Remember, remember, remember.