In A Graveyard Of Those Who Died Long Ago

Closer to the road, the ancient graves
crumble under the weight of time.
Words of love, of lost, of hope and despair
are scattered amongst the un cut grass.
Stone crosses severed and chipped
softened by the damp moss.
There are no visitors here anymore,
just observers. They look and shudder,
To rest in a lonely spot, to be concealed
by the weeds, to fade into the past.
There are heroes here, half named strangers
visited only by the rains.

by Not Long Left

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