Old Lebanon Cemetery

There is a beautiful ancient burial ground in the Ozark mountains that is the resting place for countless generations of my lineage. One of those places that completes a part of me that remains incomplete wherever else I might be. It is the place where I can best see forever. The fulcrum of my forever... I love this place. To me it is the very garden of grace. Jesus gladly endured Gethsemene and Golgotha so that each mouldering stone would herald a continuing hope. I have Old Lebanon Cemetery to turn my sweat to blood as I implore my god. I make the journey often but never often enough. As I draw near, my spirit races ahead. Eager to embrace the rest of me... The best of me who have been awaiting my return. This lovely mountain knoll spreads out upon sacred earth. Ancient oak and cedar stand sturdy watch over rows of shifting stones. Over piles of chambered bones. These token efforts to cast permanence upon the temporal. To me and mine, 'tis folly divine... The holiest of holes in eternity's veil. Where those souls precious to ours set sail... Without a single tear among them. They know what we can hardly imagine... forever. Even as granite turns to sand and soil is amended by what is left of man. I feel the gentle burn within my soul ushering me toward the portal of what awaits... To whom awaits. They must know how this fever will grow as I settle in to watch the door for a bit. I rub the stones and chew the bones of those who made me... Me. I share the salty mist that gathers upon the windows of my soul with the soil of their interment. It won't be long before this song of my people includes my stanza. The footnote of a life too long. When measured by right and wrong. Summed in verse, some epitaph too terse. As I gather to leave I feel them here. Gone yet near. I feel the warmth of soul smiles assuaging my fear. I imagine them the whole day long, as I write, being the song and sending me a lyric for every tear.