Thursday, January 29, 2009
Poem: Morning in the Graveyard
Morning in the Graveyard
The road leads to the graveyard
and you hesitate,
afraid perhaps of ghosts,
of history, or worse,
a future haunted by the past.
Still, you walk through the gates,
past the ancient marble stones.
You face your fear and begin
to read the names on the stones,
one by one,
faceless deaths, faceless lives,
all buried beneath the grass and snow,
and as the gray morning passes,
you sigh, and like the morning sun
breaking through the winter clouds,
you smile, as you realize
your name is not here
and the death you were so certain of,
was not your own after all.
The picture is of a graveyard in Salem, New York, taken last winter. You can click on it for a larger version.