The world is withering like the fallen leaves
I can never tell where upon the terrace field
Of life, exploration. existence and will-
Are we nearing the end of our summit
Or merely crossing the drop of a hill
Ever far from the clouds, fringe of the pit
Are we at the very first rung of the fate wheel
Or are we edging rapidly towards the dip
Are we about to crush are we about to kneel
Are we losing our desperate clawing grips
Am I hearing welcoming drums or is this our knell
Is the thief of time silently vouching to steal
Our last supper our very last earthly meal
Or are we just crouching to brace The Greater Leap

Riding the train to Mall of America near Minneapolis. Fort Snelling National Cemetery lies East of the tracks. Outside the windows pass these gravestones. Stark marble markers in the place of heros. Rigid rank and file, monuments on parade in mimic  memory of the command to "Attention!"  

And there are thousands. Row after row, column upon column, they march into the distance

Until finally, I closed my eyes and listened to the rumble of the  train, wheels upon tracks, and to the conversion of a young family seated behind me as they talked about all the fun they will have at the mall. The Mall of America -- found out past the tombstones, beyond the graves of the fallen brave.

in the maze of your soul I discovered the center was a beautiful garden, wild, unrulely and begging to bloom in the light of another. I have fallen in love with it and am happily lost there for eternity.

Oh fallen flower, how your colour burns more brightly ensconced upon this  weathered pew.  Fate, it seems has brought you to this resting place to soften its callus surface. Though your time left upon this crag is fleeting, your place is here and now.


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