The sky laden and ashen,
the earth as hard as iron,
these dead lie all forgotten
in their incumbent sleep.
Their markers angled, fallen,
harsh wind cold, calling.
A funereal morning, stolen,
from the oblivious dead.
Our tread is slow and reverent.
our sacred breath efferent.
In new light we leave our essence,
on trails long grown old.
©AJM
City Jackdaw 
great. and the pics…makes you see it clearly.
on the humour side, the cemetaries of my country are a safe haven for drug users and criminals lacking focus in life
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I guess there is something deeply symbolic about that.
Thanks for sharing 🙂
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Reblogged this on ormsel and commented:
LIFE HERE IS BUT SHORT
ETERNITY IS NOT FAR
CAN BE CHOSEN
OR IGNORED.
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Beautiful, Andy! And the blue of each photo adds to the mournful tone.
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Thanks Linda. This post was born from me dropping the kids off at school and then waiting for the library to open, so, to kill some time, I went for a walk around the cemetery on a bleak, winter’s morning.
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Wow. very visual and poetic.
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Thank you Tristan 🙂
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Haunting words and photos. Hope you are doing well Jackdaw; I’ve been away from the blog for a time so I am just now catching up on posts.
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Yes I’m great thanks Magpie (vomiting bug now expelled from the house). Hope you are well too. Welcome back 🙂
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Beautiful poem. Almost like E. A. Poe. I love to go to such places. It makes me feel strange when I imagine that I will sooner or later be lying somewhere like this.
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Wow thanks John, what a figure to be compared to. And yes, such a fate awaits us all.
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