Grave

At the highest point of Rhododendron Ridge, there is a grave. It is dark gray, cracked and mossy. The ground around it is covered in rhododendrons; a final gift to the dearly departed. The person buried under it is actually very close to the surface, but the Rhododendrons mask the smell.

Anyway, this grave marks the burial site of the renowned poet, Robetta Nites.

Her poems are noteworthy for being mysterious and cryptic. In times long ago, she was thought of as a prophet, but of course that's not true. She just wrote very vague poems that could apply to future events if you squinted at them.

Of course, that's not to say they're not good. They are! But I really hate people who think prophecy is a real ability. The future is undefinable. You can't see it.

Anyway, here is one of Robetta's poems, 'The Face of the Unknown':

Across the creek of our home
Lies the strange and the unknown
The creature lurks, a curious man,
His legs stand tall, his skin untanned.

He looks upon this town,
With his eyeless gaze
His expression is a blur,
His motives are a maze.

He proposes a simple game,
One only won by chance,
A deadly, unworldly gamble
Played under the nocturnal ambiance.

Yes, that's right. This poem is what this very blog is named after. This poem has stuck with me ever since I read it. I was going to show it to my brother, but then...

Anyway, people have tried to decipher this poem, find out its 'hidden meaning', but I just think it's about the unknown, the strange, the mysterious. Things with no meaning.

That can actually apply to all of Robetta's poems.