The tombstones stand out white
In the sun’s light.
I wonder, as I go
Whether those now below
Lived their days in light?
And, when I go
Will those who pass
Along this path
Pause, and sigh,
And think as I?
We
Walked through the graveyard.
She
Is frightened of death.
Earlier we
Drank wine.
Our bed
Was hot
The dead
Are forever here.
The graveyard plot
Draws lovers near.
Seeming.
Yet merely
Dreaming,
Until we
Enter eternity.
On a chilly winter’s night
The song of a bird
I heard
As he sang to me
From a churchyard tree.
Such delight,
And poignancy.
But that was in me.
A tall tree
Arrested me
As I
Passed by
The churchyard yesterday.
When I
Go away
The tree will stay.
And others will pass by.
And, perhaps, think as I.
Beyond dark
And light,
I face
Eternal night.
I rarely write
At night,
When the light
Grows dim.
For the line
Betwixt sleeper’s breath,
And death,
Is passing thin.
Sometimes I see
You in front of me,
Or imagine you at
My side. I
Go to pat
You under the table,
Where you so often sat.
I am not able.
You are not coming back.
An insect
Brushed against my head.
I showed it respect,
For soon it will be dead
And an insect
Is fragile
As a girl’s smile.
A kiss.
Or the bliss
Of bed.
And the wind blew chill
And will
Do still,
When I am dead.
Some find
In the arms
Of that ancient profession
A kind
Of passing peace.
But a girl’s charms
Fade, and many a confession
Is made
By those who still believe, to the priest.
Though, in modernity, eternity
Is feared, by those who think
On dust
And such
As a never ending drink
From the waters of Lethe
Where men find
Peace
From the world’s call,
And all
Thought
Is reduced to nought,
In Hades where there
Is no hot
Fire, and desire
Is forgot
In an eternal, dreamless dream,
And Satan’s grin, is never seen.
For the song
K Morris - Poet 