I’ve never met them,
These silent strangers.
They are to me but
A name on a stone -
Or no name at all,
Just a depression,
A mound of earth,
Unmarked.
They lived before me
In a younger world -
Real people sighing
Through life
Before I took on
Flesh and breath.
They’re gone now -
Unremarked.
It doesn’t seem fair.
They might never
Have existed at all -
For good or ill,
They came to rest here,
On this windy hill -
Forlorn,
Forgotten.
I cannot know them,
I who am living.
God alone has
Decided their fate.
I walk from the place
And leave them behind.
I must make a mark
Not written on stone.
*************************
© Janalyn Voigt
