Graves

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Graves

Now I am old.
My hair is white.
My cane is sturdy.
My memory fails me not.

I read the names.
They are printed on the stones.
The stones are as grey as the sky.
Grayer, where the tears stain them.

I see their faces.
I see their true selves.
They are happy, smiling.
They are real people.

I did not see them before.
I saw what I made of them.
I saw the twisted deformities.
Those were their faults.

I took away their smiles.
I laughed at their calamities.
Then I gleefully killed them.
I thought not what I did.

I should not have thought,
Of what they did.
Out of ignorance
They killed me first.

They were weighed in the balances.
They were not found wanting.
Soon I will be weighed.
And found a murderer.

It is too late.
I cannot undo what I did.
I wish that I had not.
We regret the things we do.

The Clown