As living pearls we’re strung out right and left,
Lovely and beautiful on the Earth’s breast.
Her bosom heaves, and one by one we’re cleft:
A thousand truths die, until none are left.
There is an old churchyard,
a large one that yet yawns to receive the deceased, as it has for 300 years.
Real cobwebs stretched across the archway…
Angel statues beckoned us in,
but were really just there to carry forth the souls of the dead to the heavens…
An inscription read:
All the world’s wealth can’t extend the power
That drains the cup and withers the flower.
What would be the price of a moment’s breath
Purchased from Death’s hand at this final hour?
As promised, we mummies had crept on into the heart of the graveyard,
even letting it get to us so as to be totally receptive,
and saw some freshly covered graves…
our rosy cheeks and warm breath exhaling mist—
the only life here in Corruption’s dim dwelling place,
decrepit death everywhere around and underground
as the Earth’s final benediction composed for the decomposing…
Alarmed, we wandered among some tombstones,
Under which rested little more than bones,
Where from the life had fled when dreams were dead,
Which under us became life’s stepping stones.
Not all poems are pleasant—some speak of death,
Of life’s end, separate by just a breath
We saw tombstones overgrown, under swept,
Names unknown—and to all the message saith:
Read Me, it said, engraved beyond the brink,
You, who live, up above: of life go drink;
And you, underneath, now lying so dead:
Rest in peace, RELAX—it’s later than you think!
…but we saw no souls rising, heard nothing,
and noted nothing unusual at all in any way whatsoever,
nor could we ever,
for invisible they all were and are and ever will be.
Although it felt quite spooky, we knew that this feeling only came from an association with invented legends,
but we could understand how and why they could have been made up, for, in the old days,
when there was some sound or movement heard,
but nothing found, they still suspected someone or something about,
such as spirits and ghosts.
—Whence Cometh Our Help —
Born from stardust and nourished by sunlight,
I’ve filled my cup with wonders of delight.
Life is a treasure, a radiant gem,
A vision that I’ll never see again.
From the cold night beneath the stars… back…
to the warmth… of the log fire…
The stars are eternity’s running-lights—
They shine, even through the fathomless night!
From what bright star came the gleam in your eyes?
To what distant sun returns your smile’s light?