Towers

There is nothing here except the living and the dead
And these footprints where we look for ghosts,
Cascading in the soft spray to eternity,
Find no monody but the vast emptiness of our souls.

Each name traced is but the memory,
Of the great loss etched upon the faces of the living,
Tiptoeing around the reality and the whisper
Of voices, stilled, but not forgotten.

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