Colonial Park Cemetery

December 11, 2011
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Worn gray gravestones bear illegible words
Telling the story of how the rotting corpses six feet under died
Mid-morning light casts shadows on the outlandish grass
Dead and alive as if Schrödinger placed a box atop this cemetery
But then am I between life and death too?
Inaudible mumbling floats from grave to grave
Perhaps from wandering souls as well as sleep-deprived students
Bipolar breezes tauntingly dance around my bare ankles
Singing birds flutter foreshadowing the fate of the bodies I indirectly tread on
But aren’t they already dead?
Eyes filled with wonder replace those filled with tears from two hundred years past
Once-smooth surfaces of gravestones are rough from chaotic erosion
Oppositely matching before and after death, turmoil to tranquility
Dark thoughts cloud my mind as I imagine being in the place of those who perished
But did their death come from a knife to the throat or a bullet to the chest?
Everything must die
Unless it was never alive to begin with

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