field of souls

A hearse stands patiently,
no hurry, no worry...
Low dark clouds reflect a mood
of imprisonment in solitude.
The soft rain washes away muted tears,
attempting to soften hidden fears.
Circling over a freshly dug hole,
an eagle, with wings stretched wide, awaits the soul.
A lonely group of mourners
stand close, in repose,
oblivious to the wet dreary day
and quivering in the grey.
No hurry, just worry...
Damp lawns extent to the edge of the trees,
where willows are weeping ill at ease.
Splatters of bright flowers illuminate a somber site,
the melancholic apathy, like night lights, ignite.
Hearts are broken with a profound raw ache,
never to fully repair the break.
A few yards away a shovel is anchored
in a fresh mount of dirt,
where memories are left behind attempting not to hurt.
Each headstone is a chapter in a life,
part of a book sustained to survive.
The end is sudden or expected,
sometimes accepted, always with sadness reflected.
A scene so serene as if the world knows to safeguard its tranquility.
Where a breeze, ever so slight, flap the patriotic flags carelessly.
Not a day goes by without a thought
for the love that I had caught.
After all these years,
there are still tears
for what should have been
our everyday routine.
I don't know what to say or do
when I visit you.
A placid place filled with agony,
weathering the morbid reverie.
No more pain, no more worries...
It's here that you lie alone,
until I join you as a soul
when our existence is surrendered
to the place where loved ones are remembered.