Dirge

The sound of feet shuffling
Slipping on mossy rock
Blindly forging onward
Through sand and shale
To reach their hidden home

The feel of rough stone
Pressing against soft skin
Exhaustion creeping in
While they weep and moan
Knowing tomorrow is lost

The grooves are jagged
Cut into the faded rock
Gripped by rough hewn hands
That know the pain of loss
From years in the desert

The smell of morning rain
Memorized through labor
Fields deluged by water
Pure as the driven snow
Perfect in their grief

The silence of lost souls
Finding refuge in forgiveness
An innocence reborn
From the ashes of stone
Torn apart under pressure

And calcified.