Revisionist Poetry – “Where the Quiet Keeps” – Ghostly Stones, v.3

Marble and granite rise from the earth
like old thoughts that refuse to vanish,
leaning into the weather,
holding their names against rain,
against sun,
against the long dull hand of neglect.

Time has not shattered them all at once.
It has only softened them:
the corners rounded,
the lettering thin,
the bright intention dulled to gray.
Still, they stand
above the bones they mark,
above the sleepers
the ground has folded into itself.

What was once polished enough
to catch the light
now bears moss, soot, lichen,
the small bruises of seasons.
But even damaged, even half-forgotten,
each stone keeps its vow:
to say this one was here,
and loved,
and lost,
and held by the world for a while.

Most people pass without seeing.
Yet those who linger
can hear it —
a hush beneath the traffic,
a pulse in the carved names,
a patience deeper than grief.
The dead are not gone from these stones.
They are kept
in the quiet.