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I walked among the dead today
and gazed upon the cold remains
of lives once lived, of hearts so gay,
hence buried 'neath this sod and clay,
row upon row, I strolled the lanes.
A solemn whisper from each stone,
the faceless names etched in relief.
One mortal curse seeks flesh and bone,
all we invest, yet do not own.
Inhale, exhale, life is so brief.
What soon shall pass has always been,
see time pour through each flesh-bound sieve.
Inhabiting the earthen skin,
a soul cries out for life again.
"Why must I die, when I should live?"
One epitaph now at my feet
evokes a smile as I draw near.
Its sentiment is short and sweet,
eight words, one life, concise, complete.
"God called. You will not find me here."
------
The Gadfly
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No Cry, No Freedom
