An ashy smoke slab of concrete webbed with cracks,
Like the heart of the corpse that lies underneath
Black soil consumes suffocating the carcass
The only life, weeds withered wrapping the bones
Identities are stricken, carved into stone
Lies a homogenous ground of skeletons;
Where working class and aristocrats can touch
A long-life of privilege rotting in decay
Lifeless lilies placed, forgotten, like those lost
Memories disperse with each petal that falls
A plaque, a stone, slab of concrete, a body
A grave becomes more significant than life
The pointless plaque can crumble with a tough hit
Are graves made from guilt? Will our love die with it…