Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I wonder if tip-toeing on an icy path
or walking in late evening fog
constitutes outwitting noises that have survived
for an eternity: the carving of love names
on a headstone, the wailing of all apparitions
and their faces in this crowded space or wet snow
falling from nearby black boughs

My own quietness salutes the dead who had nothing
else to say, had no more actions to perform,
who lost sight of all the games of the living
and decided to lay down and die
with the rest of their former loves

nice poem...ive had my fill of death this winter....praying for my sister right now who's in hosp. hanging on....

Peace to your sister and you. I spent a lifetime in a hospital a lifetime ago.

68degrees

68,
Fine work here... Love this..

My own quietness salutes the dead who had nothing
else to say

I like the whole thing but the last stanza really resonates with me.

.....

Mark,
Sending healing energy and prayers for your sister!

thanks Doreen....she is a beautiful grandma with lots to live for....

sending the inner strength to rustle up some courage, confidence as moment reaches out to moment

thanks to 68 for offering this poem as a resting spot

Cemeteries are such a contradiction of emotions...especially at night. I love 'em, personally, the history...the names. Great place to people watch.

68degrees