hanging above a gazebo in the middle of the cemetery is a tree
this scene that I pass everyday is like my mind

the leaves of the tree are my emotions;
dying and falling helplessly and later regrowing and becoming fresh and green

the graves surrounding the tree are old hopes;
ideas and dreams that have been shot down or lost, never to be recovered

the church nearby is faith;
there it stands always; though many ponder it and many cling to it, not all enter

the cars passing by are strangers;
never slowing to think about the many hopes buried in the cemetery, never caring

those who visit the graves are my friends;
they stop and look, hopeful and sympathetic, for they have cemeteries of their own

11/02/1999