Frank James Ryan Jr...FjR (A Collection of Select Works... / The City That Never Sleeps)
S o u l s -In- S l e e p...
Souls in sleep, beneath morning's dew,
heard the prayers of Death by graveside,
smelt the stale of floral, on freshly dug sod
too soft to take knee and whisper
words never shared...now lost to regret.
Shadows eclipse this yard of stone,
sunfall peeks through naked branches,
twilight casts arched silhouettes
over rock's cold grey silence;
names and dates lose their stipple to the night.
And who be these occupants, lying here,
sleeping within these hallowed acres?
Were they collar blues, or Wall Street suits,
common folk... or recherche?
Doesen't matter here, for once we are equal.
And if these occupants awoke-
would they speak of a Kingdom of peace
or nervously spew of an incubus?
Ashes cannot speak, hear, nor feel,
still we talk to the ground, and wait for the breeze.
Yes, I marvel at graveyards, what can I say;
Eccentricity pours from my matter.
We live, die, yet somewhere between
we speak of the many souls in sleep-
until we too, rest beneath mornings dew.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Frank J. Ryan, Jr.
Copyright © 2013
All rights reserved
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