Gravediggers We Have Become

we gave names to our dead

no, not names

codes, numbers

to represent our blunders

we planted daisies by the plot

to cover the dreadful

remembrance of the dead

an embarrassment to the living

we engraved lines on stones

dirges, odes and poems

and passers-by notice

only the craftsmanship

by day we ride our horses to town

telling stories of those we buried

and the crowds shed tears

only of laughter

(we have successfully spun

tragedy into comedy)

But by nightfall…

we found pleasure in digging up graves

pits we dug ourselves

to bury what was meant for the soil

and the worms to feast upon

Gravediggers we have become

With a pen for a spade and a sad song

Bringing above ground

The rotting silent corpses

(And each night

They grew smaller

and less pungent)

But by each daybreak

when our bodies are tired of the digging

we surrender to sleep

the dirt, our easy beds

(and when the sun is high

we ride to town again

and by nightfall

we dig some more)

...

if only we saw the crosses

we sculpted on each grave

we wouldn’t have grown old

sleeping on dirt, and with calloused hands

Photo not mine. taken from here