Early Works - Restlessness Poem by David Harris

As I walk through a place of rest
in morbid solitude,
a chill goes down my spine
for an answer I must find.
In front of me lies a closed grave,
on the tombstone my name is paved.

Am I dead,
am I a lost soul
cast into an eternal hell
of restless beings
with no shape or form
to call our own.

Or is it just a dream
of what will happen to me
I cannot tell.
Is this my place after death
to live in the restlessness
outside the gates of hell?


Date unknown (probably the late 1960’s)