Jutting Poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar

Jutting!
Like projectiles upward,
To reach.
These granite slabs.

Fading.
Many with diminished descriptions.
And many more standing,
With non-exisiting to read...
Once carefully etched,
Epitaphs.

Jutting upward in row upon row,
To lay surrounded by manicured grass.
Fenced within cemetery quietness,
As if to appease the dead...
In a foreverlasting sleep and unknown.

Bleached these slabs are from Sun,
And the rain that comes...
To wash away that which had been engraved,
On the headstones of those death has silenced.

And I walk along to wonder,
Who the many forgotten were.
Those whose ashes have long ago turn to dust.
Those who once lived.
Now below the ground...
Hushed!

Can their spirits see me pass?
Do they know I walk to wonder of their past?
Are they aware like I am...
That life is not to live to last?
They must.
Can their spirits see me pass,
And laugh to find my thoughts amusing?
Or have their spirits long gone,
To adapt and be freed from life's trappings?
Heartaches. Sorrows. Physical pain...
And having no cash.
I pass and 'feel' their spirits laughing.

Jutting!
Like projectiles upward,
To reach.
These granite slabs.

Fading.
Many with diminished descriptions.
And many more standing,
With non-exisiting to read...
Once carefully etched,
Epitaphs.

And here I am in the moment,
Living...
To witness this.
And to wonder.