There they go in, darkly insane,
Done on the deeds of other days.
But believe in the grin inane,
As the play within the play plays.

This is the time of other lives,
Lost in intent, to seek surmise,
To seek the dream behind the eyes,
Always to remain in disguise.

Too fearful or to long ago?
Only impossible, to know,
But the dreadful shudder of dread,
When the dead return, as undead.
Poetry Life & Times