cemetary

In the center of a field
of broken stems and withered husks
the color of funeral shrouds
lay the graveyard.
Dry weeds choked the headstones
leaning listlessly in all directions,
the names they bore
worn away by time
and forgotten by men.
In the distance
the black branches of a silent forest
strained toward the bleak sky
like a drowning man,
clutching for the rope
that isn't there.
And I,
in my senseless sadness
crying for people I never knew
wished against that
inevitable fate.