A walk among the tombstones.

When all else fails and when sleep evades its responsibilities; when illusions vanish behind closed eyelids; when a full moon held motionless within its galaxy; it is time to walk amount the tombstones.

There a quarter moon appears; dominating a thousands stars; there aliens, true, false, green, orange, tall or stout; there nomads gather free to venture out seeking lost soles. 

Upon gravelled paths covered with autumn leaves of orange and yellow; upon those discarded now wet with the nights-dew; upon those crumbled now by bare feet of the homeless; upon those drunks, murderers and rapists; upon them is God's salvation.

Believe as you may the winter mist encroaching restlessly among the concrete grave stones and the marble crosses; believe each is cradling a celebrated life; believe when hearing of rattling sabres and fixing of steel bayonets; believe death is near.

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