Asclepius

Nothing is written in stone

Save for the grave with your name etched on it.

Wilted roses lay in cracked glass vases

And ripped cards with empty words litter the ground

Pieces now scattered in bird nests and squirrel’s burrows.

Wind and rain have worn away at the edges

The stone now smooth under my fingertips.

The fire you left behind still roars at home.

Its flames still licking at the wood and spreading to dry leaves.

Though the home is now empty,

Its owners now beyond the reach of gods and men

My cries to Asclepius drowned out by rolling thunder

Theo Gearty, Grade 12

Creative Writing Major

Drama Major