Wednesday, June 29, 2011

SPIRITS OF THE DEAD


SPIRITS OF THE DEAD

Thy soul shall find itself alone
'Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone--
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.

Be silent in that solitude
Which is not loneliness, for then
The spirits of the dead who stood
In life before thee are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee: be still.

The night, tho' clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven
With light like Hope to mortals given;
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem.

As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee forever.
Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish--
Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more--like dew-drops from the grass.

The breeze--the breath of God--is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy--shadowy--yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token,--
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!

EDGAR ALLAN POE



photo by *Vivienne Moss*

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Out of the Shadows

Out of the Shadows they come;
hauntingly beautiful
morbidly grotesque;
The dead and un-dead alike
roam the Lands of the Living...

 Or is it we who roam the Shadow Lands;
searching for acceptance,
hoping for companionship,
longing for the touch of Death
who's Breath brings Life...

Out of the Shadows they come;
hauntingly beautiful
morbidly grotesque;
And I, someday, will join them.

Vivienne Moss