The Cities Of The Dead Poem by Bryan Riley

With our eyes bent
toward the sky, we
search for the salvation
that must exist- somewhere?

With an ear to the
ground we listen intently
for the soft sound of
the dawn's approach

We leave hope by the
side of the road, the
shriveled hulk of its
demise testifying to
our repeated failed efforts
to gain a foothold in the
homeland of the gods

Let discerning dogs lie
in puddles of filth
then die well without
having to bear the burden
of useless emotion

Pierce the sun with
a dagger- pull the
darkness down around you
like a burgeoning thought

Warm yourself by the
dying fires of passion; lost
Remember only that all the
good in the world will
ever come through you

Wake the shadows with a
profound sense of purpose.
Hold your light aloft-
high as you can.
Dispel the spirits with
a whispered word, and
dwell forever in the
cities of the dead.