She takes photos of flowers in graveyards and no one knows the difference;
they love them no matter.
Flowers never mind where they grow,
be it
a graveyard
a crack in the pavement
a mountain side or a field,
as long as their roots are nourished.
And the sun still shines
and the rain still wets
and wind still blows without pause where
dead people lie.
no fear of life or death;
so the flowers grow and she still
goes and sees that beauty and peace
Abide within.
I walk through
Aged and forgotten,
Off the beaten path
Graveyards.
Something about them has always drawn me.
I will follow the signs to some
Destination unfamiliar,
Down a worn unpaved detour to find them.
Often
An
Old caretaker will come find me, looking quite confused to have
Company,
And ask if i am searching
For a particular grave.
He simply wishes me well when i say no
And goes upon his way.
I am left to tread on my own
Among bones and birds,
Humming to myself
With
These people unknown to me.
Alone yet not alone
Relishing a beauty
Some find so frightening.
Chole Into Diamonds 