I walk the path where shadows weep,
Through hallowed earth, my ancestors sleep.
Their silent graves, the stones so cold,
Whisper stories of lives untold.

The air is thick with memories,
A haunting hum of distant pleas.
I feel their breath, their hearts, their pain,
A timeless echo in the rain.

The names, so faint, etched in stone,
A century of lives unknown.
Each step I take, a quiet prayer,
To those who lived, who loved, who cared.

I see their faces in the breeze,
In every leaf that falls from trees.
Their spirits rise, a mournful cry,
As I walk beneath the endless sky.

What did they dream, what did they fear?
Did they ever feel that I was near?
In the stillness of this sacred ground,
I search for them, but they’re not found.

I am the bridge between their lives,
The blood that runs, the heart that survives.
Yet in my chest, there’s empty space,
Where their stories once held grace.

I weep for them, for what they gave,
For every life, for every grave.
In the graveyard where my ancestors sleep,
I find my soul, but lose my peace.



©️Lainey Green - Intwined.blog