The echo of loss

rings from beyond

the cemetery gates

as I pass by

in wonder of lives and loves lost, always

too soon, no matter the age. Weeping

willows, winding streams, rolling

hills, and monuments etched from stone stand sentinel

beyond the cemetery gates where the specter

of grief walks the rows

alone, in the dark, while memories and longing

are ghosts among the living.

Hauntings frighten

us, because they are the true echo of loss, not

beyond the cemetery gates, but in our homes, our hearts

where monuments are erected from our grief and tears.