There Lies My Stone

Sharp winter winds blow through my hair.
Souls are being set free.
The cement bench is cool to the touch.
I must give my trembling legs a break,
But the bench is too cold to succor me.

The moon provides a glowing illusion.
Headstones are highlighted by the mysterious light.
Crimson roses lay vibrantly against a weathered stone,
A stone undistinguished from the others.
A gray stone to represent a creature once full of life.

The amount of despair is monumental,
I can almost smell the foul emotion.
The evergreen trees release a pine scent.
The aroma’s endeavor almost drowns out the other smell,
The smell of death.

Twigs snap as I walk to a cached headstone.
I can hear my heart pounding faster with every step.
A tree's branches cover the opening to the forest,
But I pushed them aside and crumbled to the ground.
A shriek escaped my lips as I read, ‘In memory of a lost soul.’