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.
We Walked Through the Graveyard
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Tag Archives: death
Dreaming
Seeming.
Yet merely
Dreaming,
Until we
Enter eternity.
On A Chilly Winter’s Evening
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.
Churchyard Tree
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
Beyond dark
And light,
I face
Eternal night.
I Rarely Write At Night
I rarely write
At night,
When the light
Grows dim.
For the line
Betwixt sleeper’s breath,
And death,
Is passing thin.
To A Departed Dog (Dedicated To Trigger)
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.
Fragile
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.
Eternity
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
Last Night I Was Somewhere Called Nowhere
Last night I was somewhere
Called nowhere
For there
I stood
In the dark wood
Of dreams,
Wherein
Virtue and sin
Are merely seeming,
For we are dreaming.
‘Tis a fine
Line
Twixt the living and the dead.
The head,
So full of thought
Is, suddenly, nought
And many
Men
Creep
Away In sleep.
To some death is the final despair,
The never ending nightmare
For None can escape
Death’s suffocating cape.
Yet, if we know not that we are dead
Why dread
The final dreamless sleep,
The dust,
Into which we all must
One day, creep?
K Morris - Poet 