The Dead

The dead are everywhere
waiting for us to seeTHE DEAD

They are in our overpasses and byways
the cervices
where sidewalk meets road

They are patiently waiting
rising from their coffins
suits freshly pressed
skin, a blue grey marbleized against bone

They are
hidden in whispers
The kisses we give our children
are coated in their hopes
and the clean white linen they slumber in
Some of the dead
have guns
armaments still strapped to their sides
trigger cocked
the humming of the safety clicking metronomically

Some stand
silently, their mouths
open, hands folded
yearning for the verbiage to flow, yet only air passes

Some are children
their eyes hollow orbs
holding soft smudged lovies
feet shuffling passing so much time

The dead need us
to see them
They are tired of standing
their cries unheard,
Their needs unbidden

They wait for us to visit the
The vestiges of their lives
Those cold slabs of stone
Standing firm
ushered by cedar and pine
The dead
need to be
that they are dead

They wander aimlessly
attempting to
return anew
familiar faces
homages to their homes

The dead feel the low
slow movements
of our bodies exhaling
and inhaling
the heat that radiates outward
signals to them
a gentle echo of light
The dead need us to
warn them; the threads
that hold them
are tenuous

ethereal hooks
from navel
to womb

They stand within the confines
of their
self-made cities
reconstituting life

They have filtered these forms
from imagination and memory
commixing incessantly, and yet
caught amongst a tangle of auric

This world is too
unkind for them
to exist anymore
and the rules they knew do not apply

Our words and deeds play
on their ears
lilting daggers
breaking invisible skin

The dead need us more
than we know
more than we need them

the symbiosis consists of a fragile
filmy glue
feeding them unknowingly through
grief and memory

Their yearnings persist
dried cakey things
brittle to the touch
yet, spongy too

their desire usurps ours
it is fathomless
and blindly stupid
for its needs are infantile
to an unknown dispassionate world.

Blood, Bone and Stone

Copyright 2014© Aria Ligi from Blood, Bone and Stone
Mighty Muse Productions