from these pieces
will they ever
understand the way we were
all this fighting over nothing
will they wonder –
what was for
of the buried
of the broken
will the weary
be misled
when moss is
grown around us –
will they deem our savior dead
will they shake their heads
in questioning
of when and why we came –
and gather near our remnants
to worry o’er each name
rewritten there
committed every discontent
to stone
for stories unremembered
but to these who weep alone
will our beauty
be forgotten
by a world who never knew
the ways we came
to understand
the mystery of truth

. . .