Let's test this stone, this dark, dreary testimony to
what has been, the people walking by for a time
to drop flowers, or place carefully they watch the time
pass, for now we see but closely, memories, they stir
stone, or concrete when we walked down the lane.
Or cobblestone, it was, to make it as such, red brick,
then past the time that we came here with family, and
yet the family tree is still there, inscribed as an epitaph to
what we were, the heritage of 23 and me, or you and I we
have drones to look at all of this, and try another way to
get around death.
But let's look at these stones, this will, where we can't know,
we can, but then again, we are destined to lye to gravely say
we can no more be alive than the road, the road, the path
gone by, the road not taken, the gravely in black, dark and
somber they watch me, once as a group, then pay tribute
to who I was, and who was that?
Welcome to the poetry web site of Larry Ingram. Larry is a poet, writer and observer of our culture.