Friend's Graveyard.* 

Even the graffiti is muted here,
 it's indifference turned to respect
  in this niche in the wall of the tunnel of time.
The veiling shifts of leaf-shade near
 me sway while I rest and reflect,
  and the rush beyond the gates becomes a hyperdriven mime.

The shrouded soil breathes fragrant air,
 renewing and gracing the dead
  in nature's observance of ongoing life.
I feel no hint of the humbling glare,
 no ghosts to charge me with dread,
  but a force of ancient will that gives me strength to face strife.


*(The Society of Friends, also known as Quakers.)