Oh Lord,
have mercy on my grave.
The soil is cold,
but colder still was the silence I left behind.

No one heard the final breath,
no light stayed for the closing of my eyes.
I vanished like smoke in a room
already forgotten,
like a name never spoken loud enough to echo.

I do not ask for gold,nor song,
only that You remember
there was once a pulse here-
fragile,trembling,
reaching toward something holy
with dirt beneath its nails.

I have no hymns,
only these bones and the ache they carried.
If grace can bend down
to touch the lowest dust,
then let it find me here-
unseen,
but not unloved.

Oh Lord,
have mercy
on my grave.