Of An Unknown Poet

As I stand at the graveside 
of an unknown poet
overgrown are the weeds
a tombstone with nothing written
I indulge deeply into my own reflections 
and imaginings 
just why doesn't this poet who lays beyond
the surface of this tomb have a name?
diving deep into the abyss of my mind 
dwelling on my own beliefs and reflections
on why, some souls are just lost?
and maybe weren't supposed to have lived on earth?
lost human souls without peace within
roaming the world trying to find themselves 
unconscious, if you will
never resting, yet never waking
from their darkened living 
I often ponder on why
there are so many lost souls roaming the streets?
I see them, grey without glow
just a circle of darkness surrounding them
a coldness quite indescribable 
but if I could describe it 
I would say almost like a
magnificent crystal sharp chill 
but like I say, it's hard to describe
so here I stand beside the grave 
of an unknown poet
and I think of how he or she possibly lived?
and how they may have died amongst the Ravens?
and my finale and my last thoughts came to mind
maybe they weren't lost at all? 
maybe in the end, we are all…
 
unknown poets?