Gate of Memory

The past is present, life and death, Upon whose altar passions burn And every one, in its own turn, Bequeaths to doom its sweetest breath. When time sinks deep within the mind And wakes dim memories of old To pine for heartbeats bought or sold, A darker place is hard to find. The moon shines white and cold at night— Strange witness to a murdered day— And, slithering, thoughts turn away From those who deem it wrong or right. The arrow flies; the quail must fall, Or else the hinge of fate breaks loose And hangs all creatures by its noose Where only winds can hear their call. Be light the silence of the just Or darkness music for the damned, The gate of memory is slammed Before all who can die or must. Find Langford's poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com