Highgate Cemetery

A cold silence breaks with the dawn, The cemetery gate squeaks open. Gravel crunches underfoot as I enter this Victorian Valhalla. Overgrown ferns sway in the breeze, their roots unmoved. I perceive a thousand eyes from the past amidst aisles of withered stone. I read names, dates and epitaphs, See visions of angels, and intricately carved crosses, Of black and white or shades of well worn grey. A becalming atmosphere creates peace. Then cries of need from sundered hearts assail my ears, A sudden sadness overwhelms at the sight of such neglect, I feel the respect of lost ones wane, As I sense forgotten souls. I feel shame at the need for renovation of this desolate and lonely, But wondrous memorial. I walk for the main part of the day, The sun is warm and a sense of salvation ensues, As my sorrow subsides. I have fallen in love with this shrine of rest. I discover hidden carvings as I brush aside the weeds, An angel smiles, eyes closed to the light. Hand beckoning to be a part of this peace. I sit and write this epitaph for the forgotten ones, The silent voices for whom this beauty lives. No longer shall I be afraid of my end, Regardless of its cause. Perhaps one day, I shall add to this wonder. I stand and walk again through arches of lost love, And close the gate to this beloved past.