Say nothing, let the dead heaps of Winter’s drought <br />Lie frozen, let leaves buffer their weight soundlessly; <br />Grey clouds on the horizon will muffle the wind's sobs. <br />Soft shovelfuls of earth are deeper down, <br />Beneath the hard bitten surface. <br /> <br />Their mouths stay closed now, against insult or compliment <br />Their hands are open palmed, not grasping, not convulsing: <br />For they have received their portion, that which was promised them <br />Back at the first compulsive gulping of air, when new eyes <br />Only used to darkness, had to blink at the sudden influx of brilliant light. <br /> <br />Submerged again into inky darkness, let none awaken, <br />None disturb the newfound peace and complacency. <br />They float subterranean rivers now, with featureless shores <br />And all their dreams are still ones, and all their words are silence; <br />They are cold inhabitants now, of yet colder worlds <br /> <br />Where there are no ambitions, no desires <br />Where none ever desire to find entrance <br />But where everyone finds a place, at the end. <br />Life breathes in on only a single breath; <br />The same one, at its coming and its departure.<br /><br />Patti Masterman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/winter-harvest-2/
