The Tombstone: Its Sage & Final Feelings Poem by Bryan Taplits

I'm just a hulking overtone
With every feeling written on my face,
It is here, where I stand above ground,
That I abide in my solitary place.
Although, in day, I cannot twist my face
I see new lineaments galore,
They read like little biographies
Of those who no longer can retort.
For instance I see:
'Let's rally round this jester
Who is buried in this ground.
I don't want to see any smiles. I insist! -
But also not see neither tears nor frowns.'
And:
'Here lies a man of little renown-
Always modest was his lot
He rode his sins-and they finally threw him-
So a meek tale-indeed is now in this plot.'

It's a shame, says I, the tombstone,
That these lone-stones shroud solitary tweets,
Of persons who souls now are eternally on loan
Dissevered-and never to repeat.