hearing the grave yard wind

It howls all down the line into my ears
And changing hurls all through my restting body
It twists, it turns, and burns, churning everything
Into a raging storm of longing of hope, unrequited
In hurried years that leave only memories
And images of a life torn from my fingers
The dead like leaves lie scattered around me
The gentle sussuration of the wind as combs
The graveyard grasses, lifts the grave dust,
Leaving me with tears in my staring eyes.
I comfort myself that it is only dust
But my heart knows otherwise.