Days of The Dead

by Leona Graham on 16 November, 2013

in Poesie

 

Ed: 17 November 2013

I did fear to speak of Death

In this Time of Dying

Though needs must

 

Turning inward

The world dies outward

Leaves curl and crumble

 

Brother Ian, Samhain Eve

Highland Ancestors awaiting

Pipes playing

 

He spoke of beings in white

But they had always been his guides

 

Four years on

Mother Florence followed

Him through

 

She said: ‘It is hard, this dying’

But then she had a lust for life

 

The Bright Portal

In a dark November

Now, another four

 

Passed

I count them out

As they leave us

 

Lucia of Avalon taking her leonine flame

Higher

Lady Olivia, Wonder Woman for The Goddess

 

And today, as the sun rose

Bright Soul of the Golden Notebook

Our Nobel Goddess Doris

 

Who said all women were feminists,

But she would, wouldn’t she?

 

I do fear to talk of Death

Though ageing assures

More must follow

 

Meantime

In Syria and the Philippines

Death is a Way of Life

 

I wondered about

Death Having No Dominion

No platitudes suffice, no poetic easy ending

 

When friends die

It hurts

We die a little more

 

It doesn’t matter how many die

Before or after us

But I count them through

 

That Bright Gate on The Beach

In India, years ago, whence

I returned, alive, with more to do

 

Methought an angel stood

Barring the way

My daughter’s face called me back

 

These are The Days for The Dead

Remember to remember

It is the Only Way Through

 

But fear to talk of Death

It is

A wise undertaking

 

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