A Season in Stone

A Season in Stone

sentinels standing silently

cold and unyielding

guarding without menace

yet exuding fear

within a perimeter

between smiles

cross-thatched in denial

crisscrossed in an empty threat

for no one escapes

and few desire entry

where wilting flowers once brave

abide a cold shoulder

supported by shabby tufts

echoing a span

of rapture and will

scorn and warmth

with wisdom learned

perchance passed on

perhaps wanting time

just dust in the wind

a dwarf in a universe

shortsighted and slighted

suffering instinct and passion

where a burden with weight

became a mockery of cherish

much like the stone

carved with a date

to exemplify an entire soul

already seeping softly

into the freshly turned dirt

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