Sunken Graves Poem by Hunter Hansen

The wide road to the edge leads to a place no one wishes to find
And only one step leads to journeys of unfathomable lengths
All it takes is one spark to set a forest alight, one word to start a burning love

In sunken graves at parliament, circles of old
Was where the dreaming ceased and dreaming begun
To imagine a world of hurt without pain
Dunes, deserts and trees without rain
The nocturnal gray subsided over valleys of bones
Over those who built the houses and razed the homes
Deep soil disturbed, perturbed, by its wandering child
“It’s been years, but now you’ve returned.”
No things colloquial shared in conversation
Just a calm, calm sleep and hungry worms turning

In sunken graves, the future ceased, but plans were made
Yet the ground devoured the hopes, the dreams
Laying still to the ground time’s scarring on lives
A flurry of leaves, burnt red and pale yellow
Flew past with winds, one stopping on the stone
In wonder, in admiration, how he who once moved
Moves no longer, and he, once chained to trees
Is free.

In sunken graves, all massed in an unnamed hill
Tangled in unholy interlocking, fighting for space
As the soil strains to digest a massive portion
And they cry for their own space, some honor in death
And they mourn their blood shed in reckless abandon
And they complain of their bones being pieces of puzzles
And they hope the ground will not toil with so many anymore

In sunken graves, a mystery:
Only those of the underground know him
The feet that walk above know not
Those who look upon that ground know not
Those that stare in wonder thinking: “Who? ” know not
His only comfort in that
Only those of the underground know him

The largest plants begin from the smallest seeds
The best-written books begin with just one word
A precious life begins in a single moment
But always finds itself in sunken graves.