I’ve created a cemetery
in the midst of this garden
that is my life.
A place of death
where thoughts and dreams
come to their final rest.
Sometimes I watch the sun rise
over the headstones;
oh, and there are many.
Each a place where I have buried
deep under the crosses
failures and losses.
I sit at night in an orchard of graves
and wonder at the nature of all things severed,
listen to the wailing lamentations
of hopes and memories that
turned out to be damnation.
Someday I shall return to the garden,
where life flourishes and grows eternal,
but for now such fecundity is mockery;
I choose to sit in my mausoleum sanctuary.
Companionship with all things forgotten
make my bed and lie down low,
as one of the rotten,
beneath the cross I go.
HG – 2000-2005