deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Masons' Marks

I still tidy the family graves
when I can.

'Tis a duty, as the self-appointed
family caretaker , and
keeper of time.

I still recoil, too, when my fingertips
brush the Freemasons' marks, cut
into the headstones

and.....

all sorts of thoughts rush through my mind--

jagged things, that might splinter the soul

if......

I ever found out
to what degree, they made it, to.

Sometimes the wind comes, grinning, and
asks me if I think they knew, who
they were truly paying homage , to.

I tell the wind:
" I don't want to know, if
they made it to the 33rd, but
I do want to know
If you come in the name of Christ, the
one, true God."


The wind usually leaves, then, when
I've pulled 1 John : 4 , on it, and
I get to task, finishing
the weed-pull on all the plots.

Not all witches mix potions , and
ride broomsticks---some are in the form
of a Good 'Ol Boys' Club.

One of these days, I'll bring a chisel
and chip out those snickering, taunting
marks, offending
my ancestors' grave stones.
Written by MadameLavender
Published
Author's Note
Written for Robert's "Witches" comp
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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