Ever Still Poem by Holly Jamestone

Don’t you wish we could hear back of where we go when life turns black
No one comes and clues us in; they leave and then the cries begin

There’s shock anger, disbelief, though death for some may bring relief
Where are they and do they know we didn’t want to see them go

At their bedsides when they leave do they also gently grieve
Later, insult: hearses black, creepy rituals, warmth they lack

“I know she’s looking down...” they say, but have they really gone
Are we truly ever still, then open grave of dirt they fill

Boilerplate “He would have wanted” does it make them just feel taunted
Do they hear our plaintive wailing, voices hushed, breathing failing

Don’t you wish we could hear back of where we go when life turns black
Are we sleeping, nothing more, as they close our coffin’s door

Are we duped to not fear dying, through the mourning and the crying
No one comes and says “I’m waiting, ” heavenly gates anticipating

So much guessing, faith so blind, for all of those now left behind
Are we truly ever still like dust upon the windowsill