status among the dead
24th Nov 2010Posted in: Poems 0
status among the dead
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In a cemetery, Sons fallen slap the backsides of tombstones As a violent caress of frosted breath blows beneath them. In some parts, rock stands in long obelisk shapes casting shades atop remains Obscuring the memorials but not the memories of those who rest there. In other parts, where grass has grown Lay dust on mire, ash in lye. No cure is known For the cause is ?why?? Where bones rest Not one can speak No sins confessed From a stoney creek Here lie the best with tombstoned heads There lay the meek in solemn beds Here stones stand tall and steal the light There bone sands fall to no respite. In a cemetery, Father?s fallen fill the field In rows of plots their bodies yield Torn and tattered, shattered shields. Night descends making fair The dark aspersion of a nameless dread The hope is now in a lonely prayer To raise our status among the dead.

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