We bury our dead we bury their dreams <br />In a grave, a hole with tree-root seams; <br />To the writhing worm and mildewed wood, <br />Surrendering their chemical blood. <br /> <br />From measure to measure, their new room's sparse; <br />Too small to knock the stars off course- <br />But with tiny keys, imagination's in, <br />To examine each imagined sin. <br /> <br />Though they're dead, they're not forgotten, <br />And our memories soon turn rotten; <br />The things unsaid, the things unkind <br />Will rip the blinders from our mind. <br /> <br />Why hidden so shamefully away, <br />Like burned pie or a ham turned grey? <br />There's nothing we can do each coming day <br />To take their empty cups away.<br /><br />Patti Masterman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/empty-cups-2/
