Sepulchre

Sepulchre
Peter Andes

There lies a tomb empty of death,
unscathed by ash, bones or dry breath.
Its destiny never arrived, struck down,
fallen into the sea or the field for the crown.
One of the infinite who rest unentombed,
in repose forgotten while despair still loomed.
One of the sets of bones never found,
eaten savagely by the ravenous ground.
Unmarked, unknown, mind out of,
melding into earth’s greedy, firm glove.
For the dead feed the living and let them live,
though the living think not of what the dead give.
Our own death even, not liked to contemplate,
for our fears of mortality never abate.
In mind’s sight we have a visage of after,
casket surrounded by friends in green pasture.
Carven wood thought to ever gleam,
once under earth, loses its sheen,
A distinct shape all know,
one day where all must go.
Save those who forgotten will be,
beneath blade of grass or wave of sea.
But in stony vault or in earthy tumult,
millennia will erase, and the few exalt.
Into the earth all never to rise,
ever closed all our wandering eyes.
Ever humanity ceases to draw breath,
all shall decay to dust in death.