Of Death and Honor

A cold mist chills me to my core.
All is grey as the iron fence creaks open.
Now nothing stands between me and this place.
I brace myself,
Prepared for an eerie fright, a haunting scene.
I breathe in a deep sigh as I step across the threshold.
Noticing my eyes had been closed, I open them to survey my surroundings.
The grass all around is brown from lack of care.
Headstones crumble away to nothingness,
Losing their meaning, their purpose.
Stories of a hundred men are cracked and dying.
I feel a sudden sense of calm and peace,
But the peace is invaded by a twinge of grief.
Grief of the honor lost by our fathers.
Why have we made the dead into a thing to fear?
There is nothing frightening about this lonely courtyard.
I peer down to look at a name,
But the name is broken, incomplete.
Or rather, stolen by age and forgotten.
I mourn for this lost history.
For that is what this place is made of,
What we are being taught to forget and destroy.
I look around once more and I become intrigued.
I want to know what happened to these time-weathered names.
These dated men and women of our past.
What did they accomplish in their time?
How did they die?
The cracked and bleeding headstones tell little.
I will never know all I want about these unappreciated men of old.
Souls much more honorable than you and I
Merely sink into the ground.
Will we let their stories go untold?
I love this place, this beautiful yard.
I turn to leave, and live as well.
One day I shall return,
But the only thing I can ask
Is that I may not be forgotten,
But respected for all time.

Of Death and Honor

Tiffany Wade

Joined March 2008

  • Artist
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