Echoes in the Grass
Echoes in the Grass
The morning breaks on fields of white,
where silence holds a sacred light.
Not just stone, not just a name,
but a pulse that time cannot reclaim.
I walk among the quiet rows,
where every flag in stillness knows
the weight of breath once warm with dreams,
now carried only by sunbeams.
The Weight of a Promise
It was not glory that they sought,
but something deeper, dearly bought—
a child’s laugh, a porch-lit night,
the simple, fierce, unbroken right
to live, to speak, to love, to be
unchained, unshadowed, wildly free.
They left their names upon the air,
a vow that lingers everywhere—
in classroom doors, in morning trains,
in harvest fields and quiet rains.
Each ordinary, precious hour
was watered by their final flower.
What We Carry Now
So let this day be more than grief—
let it be roots, let it be leaf.
Let gratitude not bow in shame,
but rise and speak each honored name
with voices strong, with hands that build,
with every broken promise filled.
A Rising Song
We are the echo of their fight,
the torch they passed into the night.
Not just to mourn what’s come and gone,
but to become what they marched on.
To lift their love from hallowed ground
and make it song, and make it sound.
So stand, remember, weep, and then—
rise up and live for them again.