In the Dirt

I’ve walked bare foot on the grass,
I’ve strolled through mud and dirt,
I’ve run through burning hot sand,
And I've felt the hurt.

The cemetery is crowded and yet quiet,
Still I hear echoes below the ground,
An ethereal hush almost like a riot,
Deep in the dirt with a distinct sound.

I walk through graveyard with respect,
Reading their names and epitaphs,
Thinking one day I will be just like them,
Where some makers have photographs.

I stroll through the gardens admiring,
Flowers from loved ones on the dirt,
Thinking about memories and past lives,
And how their loss must’ve hurt.

“Here” my mother says, “this is the spot”,
Standing right over an empty space,
“It's where my mom and I will be buried”,
She has picked their final resting place.

I stand there silently thinking about
How death is another phase of the soul,
We must all return to the earth,
And when I’m in the dirt I’ll be whole.