"When I look upon the tombs of the great, every motion of envy dies in me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion; when I see the tombs of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow."

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

This young man is buried almost right next to my mother. When I first stumbled across Kyle Hollar's grave during my mother's funeral, I was immediately struck by the headstone and the picture next to it. I asked myself incredulously, "What caused this young man to die so young? How tragic! - dead at only 20 years of age!" He must have died of a lengthy terminal illness, as I found the following poem written by Kyle two years before his death inscribed on a marble bench near his grave:

Do not remember me, my friends
Like the waves of the ocean
Waves come and go with the weather
Though the good and the bad

Remember me as the beach itself
For the beach is always there
To help you forget your troubles
And have fun doing what you love best.

Although I never knew him in life, I dedicate this page to Kyle Brandon Hollar; it would be harder to find a more apt picture to go along with the below poem.

May God rest his soul!

"...and I am not resigned."


I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely.
Crowned with lilies and with laurel they go: but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains - but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,-
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.