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.)
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