Let's begin by recalling
the faceless ones
from the mist of our morning.
The faceless ones are grimacing,
the nameless ones are mourning
in the shadow of our evening.
The ghostly procession
of those who passed before us
is passing on the pavement,
transparent; without fanfare,
without torches
or candles to light their way.
Without music, without candles;
even the dead need music
to sustain their disembodied souls.
Who is watching over us,
in the dark night of the selfish
and the soulless?
Have those who passed before us
turned
away their faces, in shame?
Whose shame; their shame, our shame?
Who is mourning more,
the violently departed
or the wailing ones behind?
Will there be peace
for the now gone and the long gone
and the wailing ones behind?
Even the dead need peace
to rest their disembodied souls.
Copyright ©2010
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem