Gazing through the branches, I see the stars.
Far from me they appear to be, but that is where
my final destination rests.

The Oak, solid as a fortress hangs over me
waiting for my final decision to take place.
No one will miss us.

For many years this place has been sanctuary,
but not for those who are living.
Evergreen holds the dead beneath its grounds.

Mist rises from the new fallen dew
swirling around stones carved in ornate patterns.
My favorite, Cinderella, plays beside the Rose.

The Spanish Moss drifts on the slight midnight breeze
and settles as if sighing in unison.
No one can save me now.

With rope in hand, no more waiting.
Thrown over the branch of Oak.
Pulled taut.
No breath, no life.

As the night fades, so does my will.