Souls In Sleep... (Revised) Poem by Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr

Souls in sleep, beneath morning's dew,
felt the breeze of death through the willows,
smelt the fetor of flowers wilting
all over each other, on freshly dug sod,
too soft to take knee and whisper
unspoken words...now lost to regret.

Shadows eclipse this yard of stone,
sunfall breaks through naked branch,
twilight casts arched silhouettes
over rows of flaking granite,
names and dates lose their stipple to the night.

And who were these occupants, now, here,
sleeping deep within these hallowed acres?
Were they collar blues, or Wall Street suits,
common folk... or recherche?
Doesn't matter here, for once we are equal.

And if these occupants suddenly awoke
would they speak of a promised kingdom
or a passage absent of grace.
Ashes cannot speak or hear,
still we talk to the ground,
and wait for the wind
that satisfies myths and hopes
until someday we will too,
rest beneath mornings dew.




©Copyright© MXIVII
Revised © Nov.2018
All rights reserved
Frank J. Ryan, Jr.