Echoes In a Dirge

They are all gone, long gone, Crossed beyond the great Rubicon Yet echoes of their names comes and goes like a beacon. Imagination playing on my senses I am ready to accept the unreal Dumping the surreal events deeply buried, In memory crevices that don't breakdown. Echoes of a dirge refusing to fade away; Thrusts from the past to the present as in a cascade All playing on my imagination's facade. Voids so deep, time lingering to have its fill. Past and presentin a mix of bittersweet thrill Lamentations ever persistent none to succour. A daily scourging of the present living none to moor. Transition of my friends the hereafter on my mind. A thin line between the great divide, a Rubicon to find Echoes in a Dirge. (Written 16th January, 2016)