“A Manner of Man”

by:  Jeffery Moore

In the graveyard at night,
When the Moon is full and bright,
I stare at glowing headstones.
No one thinks of their own.

Life moves at a constant pace.
In death, even a King cannot save face.
All must enter this passage,
With epitaphs honoring their vestige.

What manner of man,
To think he is greater
Than Death’s cold hand,
Grabbing you now or even later!