Moving On Past Mouldering Memorials Poem by Andy Brookes

wandering and wondering under the beeches which arch overhead, bare, mourning their losses which lie under foot brown desiccated husks thick with Autumn reminiscence
renewal is an option, as the buds of their brothers, wait burgeoning
in soft Spring sun awaiting birth.

she has stepped up her pace with yellow sprinkles those nodding trumpet heads flush on lawns amongst purple flashes or sprigs of white incandescent as a bridal dresses.

the church yard is quiet this time of day, except to early risers, such as I.
ghosts reluctant to appear in the full glare of day lie quiescent in their tombs.

row on row granite or sandstone some carved angel figured,
once white crosses green with age sliding into slow decay
the dearly beloved and departed settle in uneasy graves.
perhaps, I fancy, as I wander between them, your shade is there playing hide and seek.

we the living need these memorials to prove that
our loved or not so loved ones, existed but the dead care not; they have departed, their cores lie elsewhere.

We relicts, left behind, need somewhere to park our grief
hang our hat in a place of memory and memorials so we can keep you alive in our minds eye but the dead stay silent and uncaring in need of neither pity or grief.

coming home the house still vibrates with your presence
but maybe that's my comfort, certainly my need.
time lies heavy, tiredly ticking temporary, unfixed and I realise the clocks need winding and I, like time, must move on.