Lawrence Medina

Grey skies casting long faded lights, upon dried grounds. Smattered with standing stones, etched with long-forgotten names. Yet one stone… Stands broadly before the rest.
This cold slab, holding a name of self-importance. Demanding remembrance. I—young and foolish enough to believe it still drawing breath—stand before it. A name I know not, yet a past rife with glory… Which demands my solemn salute.
Every greyed day. I will visit him. My stone friend, of immeasurable fame. Despite his name having faded within the record of time. I hope he sees me… and knows… I will not forget.