Willow Weeping
        As I walk along a path, that no unrivaled ever wants to travel. My eyes consume the sepulchral degrade before me and the resting place of numerous lives, dreams, and the last memories of a love one beingness embedded in the psyche of those that provide keep their legacy going for all eternity.
        In the timid of the morning sky, the world has embraced a brand new twenty-four hour period anticipated to be full of joy and exhilaration. No one knew that in the eyes of one family this day would bring nonentity but sadness and realization. The trees do not appear their more or less vibrant shade of jade in the glow of this adverse day. Varieties of headstones litter the earth, holding their majestic appeal and flaunting their significance. As I twist my head from left to right, I read the many different dates of death, the different fonts, letter sizes and numerous sincere messages, which love ones have composed, that try to capture the life of the one being laid to rest in one sentence.
        I acquire to direct my attention to the expressive faces that relay their agony; the pearl-sized weeping that stream down their features creating moist valleys in their skin. The funereal automatic teller of this residence is so profound that it grasps anyone and everyone there, and shakes the very foundation of their being.
Nevertheless, the approximately acute presence is the one distinctive resonance that echoes end-to-end this place. Weeping... sobbing... the anguished cries of angst that ripple through the mind, body, and soul of the grief-stricken and anyone deep down audible range.
        Tears filling my own eyes, and myself not posture up to express such emotion, turn away. And I see the path, the rimed cement drive, leading to the world that is ignorant to the torment...
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