The Graveyard Grims and Passing Cars
Eric Bonholtzer
Voices seemed to scream, cry out against
muted soil as boots trod over tilled Earth.
Soldiers of requiem, long since silenced
bypassing steel wheels of time and progress.
Weeded grass springs up to be trampled down.
No one glances out the side window anymore.
Everyone looking ahead, trying to see
The sky filled depression as voices groan on.
These are the shadows of progress laid by the wayside
Grass grown over memory, headstones cracked with modernization
No one remembers a flower after it has blown into the sands of time
Watch as the remembered are forgotten.
As time finally concedes, it too must bow to the forward momentum
of a race bound only for the finish line and nothing in between
will matter, has mattered, or will ever matter as one by one they discover
the finish line is an unreachable goal.
But the voices could have told them that
Had they taken the time to listen.
