Tombstones!

rows and rows of tombstones,
glaring white in the morning sun...
with open graves before them,

and the smell of fresh turned earth.
cars speed by going nowhere;
people walking, as if lost....

the phone rings, no one answers,
the book, unread, stares from the shelf.
trees almost bare softly whisper,

dollar bills blown by the wind...
the old man sits by the station,
counting by number,

and not by name....
rows and rows of tombstones,
waiting for gifts unwrapped

by time!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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