This Place Poem by Patti Masterman

This place feels so steadfast and eternal;
Yet in a hundred years or more, must become a ruin
Marring an otherwise pristine nature,
With rusting hulk of metal carcass.
And no landmarks will remain, of our many trails today,
Falling across life and one another.
I try to imagine it then, with my touch missing;
But the pain of sentiment obliterates each attempt.
Somehow I think we are never meant to see
The outlines of a shadow, that we will never decorate.
Surely each day now is a jewel, though lost to my comprehension:
The world always cloaks us all in it's more mundane aspects,
Though some peace I find is difficult to bear.