My Walden Pond

The night was cool, not cold. The slab was icy, not frightening. I lay down on top of it, and pulled a quilt over. The wind was breezy, welcoming. A graveyard might not be your meditation place But as for me, I face das nichts my own way. This has been a heart opener for me. It is not long before my spirit guides arrive. They give me the answers to my questions Not in a shouting way, but in a loving way Flowing into me as naturally as drinking eggnog I rest easy, knowing they are here to nurture me In the morning I get in my car and go home Where the family is secluded Each sitting with their I-phone or I-pad No one listening to each other, None hearing their heart. No one noticing I walked in from outside Not knowing I was gone, unaware I am Thoreau And the cemetery is my Walden’s Pond I have explained, but no one hears. They are busy googling, playing word games, Distracting themselves from real people Overwhelmed with clutter that keeps their spirit guides in hiding.