The Living Of The Sad Dead
Barren are the days which climb forth empty and void of breath.
The past and the very present collide; talking heads claim death.
A rainbow of many colors turns to ash on the backdrop of a burning sky.
Yesterdays children of our forgotten tomorrow hang their heads and cry.
“I see the sea said the blind man, I see the melting sky, but I smell no future, I have no trust. I feel no hope, I long now for the darkness of before, yet I seek to live, and I turn to dust.”
Silence now befalls him, the darkness he at last desired returns.
Great cities of the world lie now in ruin as the living of the sad dead burn.
On a hill of bleached and broken bones, a mute girl speaks to those that remain.
She tells about the coming days of even a greater sorrow and pain.
With tiny hands she wipes the tears from her small shallow face.
Then she speaks no more, for her mouth is once more sealed.
The broken masses now weep sore upon her words, pleading to heaven for grace.
….but, it is too late.
J. Allen Wilson © 8/19/2010