Gray

The statues sit quiet

And observe the cemetery

Frozen – no pain, no feeling

Just gray

Cement on my death

On my mourning

Angels with hard wings

Saints, Jesus, and God

Watching over the fence

Deciding who goes or stays

Final and concrete

Unlike this garden of statues

Won’t go anywhere

Will stay and watch over the souls

Of the people who built them

Who come and cry

And death decorate

With real flowers

Or plastic ones

But the color is always

Gray…

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