Silent Grave Poem by Eric Cockrell

the silent grave
swept clean by time,
knowing only the wind

that undresses the night.
the eyes of an owl,
dead branches walking...

moonlight and darkness
thrust and parry, and dance.
the smell of damp earth,

the kingdom of spider and snail...
moss and vines wrapped
around the throat of time...

no footprints, no memories,
no flapping of wings....
the unnamed hand covers

all trace, all thought....
all that which was urgent,
eternal... of universal need...

becomes small and insignificant...
in the silent grave!