Little White Crosses

Little white crosses all in a row,
how do you brave the rain?
In memories, do you speak
in the minds of your children,
do you retrace your hopes
in pointing towards the sky
with feet forever grounded?

Does your perfection upset you,
your conformity of geometry,
do you miss the peril of being flawed
and in reception of uncontrollable things
sloshing you about,
washing you ashore,
bleeding you dry?

Are you made of bones which remain,
calcified and indestructible,
is it your testimony to endure this way,
uniform to all the others like you
in every way?
Does it hurt to be unrecognizable alone,
to be one of many all the same,
do you crave differentiation?

Are you an army of one
taken in whole, in unity
and is this enough to matter?
Can you stand united and not fall
or are you mere fragments scattered
and seperate, does the angle at which
you are viewed have importance?
Do wide, clear rows invite more visitors
to hear your fate whispered, or your history,
that you stood with all the rest?

Do you remember being created
after being destroyed,
planted in this soil of human decay
near a beach where many things
washed ashore dying and forever remain?
Did you ever desire to remain here
where you could not lift yourself to walk away,
where you would have tried if you could
Were your arms crossed in the end when
they said goodbye?

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