The following is an exercise reminiscent of Dasein confronting the possibility of the Nothing. Being-toward-death!
In the Beautiful Garden of Death The ideal seems real. Utopia Is what we feel. Serene among the pin wheels, Whirling in the wind, Skipping on tombstones, Souls going home. Placid among the willows and the yews. There: Great oaks shade the memory of heroes. Pines whisper when the west wind blows. In the Beautiful Garden of Death All speculate; no one knows. Or, if they knew - died, and did not tell.David Francis Smith