I have seen the dead among the tombs.
The wailing of the women as they pass.
I laid myself down upon white marble.
My ear pressed against cold stone.
At night I hear their voices in the moon.
The children’s laughter in the hedge.
I call to her before the dawn rises.
I think I see her by the jasmines.
I rise to greet her from the hill.
She fades away behind the winter’s sun.
Another day I’m silenced by her memory.
I notice people wander through me.
Now I know my vigilance is true.
– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.