Souls in sleep, beneath morning's dew, <br />felt the breeze of death through the willows, <br />smelt the fetor of flowers wilting <br />all over each other, on freshly dug sod, <br /> too soft to take knee and whisper <br />unspoken words...now lost to regret. <br /> <br />Shadows eclipse this yard of stone, <br />sunfall breaks through naked branch, <br />twilight casts arched silhouettes <br />over rows of flaking granite, <br />names and dates lose their stipple to the night. <br /> <br />And who were these occupants, now, here, <br />sleeping deep within these hallowed acres? <br />Were they collar blues, or Wall Street suits, <br />common folk... or recherche? <br />Doesen't matter here, for once we are equal. <br /> <br />And if these occupants suddenly awoke <br />would they speak of a promised kingdom <br />or a passage absent of grace. <br />Ashes cannot speak or hear, <br />still we talk to the ground, <br />and wait for the wind <br /> that satisfies myths and hopes <br /> until someday we, too, <br />will rest beneath mornings dew. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />Copyright © 2013 <br />All rights reserved <br />Frank J. Ryan, Jr.<br /><br />Frank James Ryan Jr...FjR<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/souls-in-sleep/
