The Grave Flowers Bloom

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Grave flowers rise where quiet stones remember,

Bright blooms that carry neither scent nor pride.

I walk among the rows of silent sleepers,

And feel the breath of stories in the soil.

***

Why do these blossoms grow without their fragrance?

Perhaps the earth has drunk their tears too long.

Beneath this ground lie hearts that once were burning,

With love for others, hopes the world forgot.

***

Some lived their lives in service of another,

And gave their light like candles in the wind.

Their gentle deeds were scattered through the seasons,

Yet time has sealed their names beneath the dust.

***

I stand and think how fragile life can wander,

How pride and anger fade before the grave.

No gold remains, no crown survives the silence-

Only the weight of kindness that we gave.

***

These flowers teach a quiet human lesson:

That life is brief, but goodness travels far.

The hands that heal, the words that guard another,

Outlive the noise of power and of fame.

***

Sometimes I feel these blossoms softly whisper:

“Live not for glory written into stone.

Live like the rain that feeds the unseen garden,

Where love may bloom long after you are gone.”

***

And so I walk with gentler steps among them,

A student of the silence and the earth.

For every grave becomes a living teacher,

And every flower guards a human truth.

***

Though time may steal the fragrance from their petals,

Their quiet beauty lingers in the soul.

For love once given never truly perishes-

It grows again where unseen gardens bloom.

                                                                                          ***Fourlinegraphia***

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