Of Graveyards and Resurrections
There is less rust on it than you might imagine
for something abandoned so long,
allowed to die without remorse
and brought here and abandoned.
There is still nobility in it,
a sense of the strength that once live
in its steel bones.
You can imagine it’s presence, its ability
to do the hard work that defeated so many
and emerging victorious.
And now it is here. A thing of aged beauty,
but still no more than a relic of another age
dragged to a graveyard for all to see.
And yet, as you look at it, you see something else,
Not just what was, but what could still be, or be again,
a different kind of resurrection,
as long as someone
About this poem.
About the truck in the picture. About people. About faith. About relationships. Heck, it could even be about our country, if I were inclined towards politics, which this morning, I am not.
The picture was taken at a truck graveyard in Petersburgh, NY.