Sonnet For The The Silent Sleeping

Stories from the grave, speak their tales on winds of faith; methodically, we lay our wreaths and sweet moon orchids, standing o'er the steel-grey rock with humble, silent hope our whispered prayers somehow reach the souls we beckon, for here, Deaths voice not be shared but with believers, though all that comes before it may echo different voices- of holy stories taught to us by men in black with missals, And faith from fear to when 'our' winds of Death shall come. Stories from the grave, shed no light upon dark shadows we read 'The Book' in hopes to shed our mortal fears; we'll speak to steel-grey stone upon soft, unleveled soil, in trust these stories old be blessed with faith renewed. Still, many questions breathe aloud among these sacred fields Perhaps beyond the winds and sky lie answers for the sleeping. FjR-MMXIX © 2019-All rights reserved Frank James Ryan Jr. / FjR