I’ve found that no matter how I try to,

I don’t seem to fit in this world that you do.

I’m on an alien world with all of my thoughts;

A place filled with nothings, nevers, and nots.

But this world doesn’t feel foreign to me,

It’s familiar. I know it. See?

You can feel this place, can’t you?

I’m sure there’s a season when you’ve wandered through.

I feel its’ presence always here, inside.

I try to ignore it, but it never budges aside.

I’ve found that in walking a cemetery through,

That I need be there just as the graves do.

Somehow I fit in this other place,

Where I’m still ever waiting for befitting grace.

The freedom for me to connect with your world,

Where I won’t feel that place with retributions aswirled.

I won’t have to feel that a tombstone’s my own,

That my name should be written on an old gray stone.

A stone in that place that plagues me forever.

A living, vexing dream I never can sever.

K. Aldaya, 2/22/04

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