Dreams of the Dead – A Poem

Ghosts come out of the graves in the old cemetery with full moon

Dreams of the Dead
Bryan Davis

Distressing come the dreams of dirt-bound souls
The cantor’s call of dirges in the dust
They come too late to mollify their woes
That time neglected turned their gold to rust

A man’s regret for months too long at sea
While children stare at phantoms in a frame
A wife bewails her tongue’s invective sprees
That bowed his back and doused their altar’s flame

The sprouts of seeds in wedded wonder sown
Now fly like chaff and wasted in the wind
What hope the harvest had remains unknown
Forgotten farms where tares were never thinned

In dirt and dross the man and woman lie
Asunder now that death has done them part
And doomed to drown, they whisper wondering why
They disregarded time’s terrestrial march

So dream of days in yellowed diary’s page
For life and love and light that should have shone
Forever lost in failing memory’s age
The blur called life in melancholy flown

Give listen those who still retain the chance
As timers tick, as seconds slip away
Take hold of hands; arise, rejoice, and dance
For night is nigh; waste not the light of day



Categories: Poetry

Tags: , ,

2 replies

  1. Hauntingly beautiful…

  2. Love the words dross and mollify. ^ ^



Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.