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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Trees swaying in the cold November breeze, as I ascended up the hill a brown path, a dull line drawn across the two sides of grassy green Moses parting the sea I walking, splitting the cool air, the grass, the atoms and particles dancing around my head passing the silent guardians eyeing me with hungry, unforgiving eyes. passing the Trio unsure of their intent, perhaps they are here for the same reason as I, hard to tell. Passing by the old rock-hewn tombstone, bare, worn and stale against the dying sunset. The Pink cotton-candy sky is slowly appearing in the cold horizon. Scanning to my right, the fresh graves, my reason for being there. I see before me the flag, sports teams, a conch- shell, Wizard figurine, all keep company to the lone marker, the signal to the grave, the plot, the final resting place of him. I begin to realize how much my loneliness is irrelevant in comparison to his. His only company are the two plots beside his own. The hill top overlooks the dead village below, the bay- bridge across the housing of the living, bringing the soulful from one place to another. Through the silence, only my voice rises above this company I begin talking, asking him to forgive me for not being there for him and hoping he is in a better place. My tears being forming, my voice cracks, as cracked as that dusty, corroding stone nearby. I say my piece, then carry myself down the hill, pass the Trio, pass the silent guardians, down the hill, passing the signs, pass the living. We grew up together amongst adolescence, chaos and changes. The tidal-wave of emotions, we the small tugboat in the center late night wrestling pay-per-view adventures we cheered on the greats along with the televised fans we imagined a world beyond our own, a land of fantasy and wonder. But now my dear friend, you are onto the next adventure, the real undiscovered country. You will always be buried in my heart and soul, as you are now in the ground. But we will meet again one day and the adventure will continue, for now goodbye.-For Andrew Wasson
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