Ode To Survival

Ode To Survival As I sit here in this still cemetery facing nomadic west, Under these ancient oaks with deep green leaves descending, I see the ghostly dead before me rising up as star zephyrs, The men and women that once spoke a multitude of living words, Once strolled a lifetime of miles with quiet footsteps unheard, Through effulgent gardens of copper rose and mountain laurel. They come now with feet of dust upon the mossy tombstones, Human beings from the old times now vanished like the grass, They that spoke of the stories of success, survival and tragedy, They that woke at eternal sunrise to once again stare into a mirror, To once again see an aging face with ageless eyes staring back, These past human beings, opening and closing a thousand grunting doors. These blinking apparitions, caressing and embracing a well of heartbeats. Where they once sat and talked on summer afternoons remains unknown. Where they found accepting love on dizzy evenings remains uncertain. Now they exit the cemetery gate waving condolences to the fearful living. They whisper prayers and invocations to the cedars and the lilting lilacs; Whisper entreaties and supplications never recited before, never heard before, Now they lumber by me with frozen knowing grins and nodding fingers. I recognize their unsmiling faces from old linen postcards in sifting time. I now continue to sit here in this still cemetery facing nomadic west. Under these ancient oaks with boughs of deep green leaves descending.