Why do we cling to these names so
in such maudlin contemplation?
Have we no faith at all now
in creative, transformation?
Look for meaning on headstones
scan for something profound,
not reminders from old bones –
while daffodils trumpet new suns;
those that are carved here in stone
have willows to sweep their ground
they lived life and moved on
as green shoots from dying brown,
and this old, hopeful church
has left my spirit in the lurch
up there with the gargoyles,
yet still the bird-song for a choir
to point me upward, with the spire.
Visit Roy’s website at roykaustin.weebly.com.
What are your thoughts on this poem? Leave a comment below. Browse more original contemporary poetry about the human condition, or submit a poem of your own.