In this womb, this sandstone cave,lie men entombedin hopes they’re saved,bones scattered throughthe yawning navewith safety bellshung in their graves.I walk the aislewith markers paved,each slab of stonewith names engravedto keep what famethey each could crave.Faint bells I hear,their long silence waived,though ages passed since they’d entered death’s conclave.But rather than beby their doom enslaved,I walk on out —my finalwave.
