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The wind stealthily moved over the graveyard
As to not wake a soul from its cherished sleep.
I drifted in and out statues and tombstones
To visit the bones of an old friend
Who really wanted to be cremated
However, that’s another story-
Death is death, at least to the novice…
As I read the dated inscription,
Onto his earthly homage,
I heard the voice of a stranger ask me for directions
On how to exit “this labyrinth of death”-
He had a statuesque face, larger than life itself,
With large white eyebrows and sanded brittle brow-
Around his head was a silver bandanna.
His mouth was weathered but somewhat gentle
As he began to speak to me of time and space
And how the end of life is only a fallacy
Created by fools to control our fears and dogmas.
He peered into my eyes with such intensity
I became lured by his awe-inspiring presence…
I said, “The exit is over that distant hill.”
He scoffed at my reply and said, “No that’s the entrance.”
“I guess we leave how we came in,” I jested.
He scoped the sea of stone and bluntly responded,
“The flesh is only a temporary skin
For those aimlessly wander this earth.”
He then whispered,
“Don’t mind me I’m just the patron saint of nonsense
And I dare you to sneeze into the tissue of truth.”
I gazed to the sunset and sneezed so hard
I blew a hole in the bandanna around his head.
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