A cemetery without flowers
Creating a greyscale mood
Filled with a terrifying silence
Only to be broken by the cries of the mourning
The wind filled air
Making a whistle throughout the barrier of darkness.
That is the old memories of fallen souls.
They remember the lives that they lived,
And the people they fought for
Maybe the people who wronged them.
They look down in despair
As we, the living, the selfish, take advantage of the lives we still have.