“Stone and Stars”

Quivering,

Upright and shaking I proceed.

The door looms,

The knob of cold brass,

The solid sheen of hardened mahogany.

Outstretched are my fingers,

Grasping and locking around the golden orb.

Pushing forward,

The hinges creaking from their dormant stance,

I enter.

The faces are stern,

Life in fullness seems to be a myth here,

This room,

A fireplace crackling away,

No warmth from the flames,

No heat permeating the strong stillness.

I approach,

The skin seemingly plastic,

It shines in the dim firelight.

Shaking ceases as I gaze upon the face,

Calm and unmoving,

Eternally stone.

I kneel before the blankets of flowers,

Before the silver casket,

Before the man who called me grandson,

And bid him flights among the stars.