Dead People Sleep In Words

Dead People Sleep In Words
© Surazeus
2018 09 04

Once children ran and played in evening dusk,
shrill voices ringing down suburban streets,
but long ago they vanished without trace,
and now play on computers in their rooms.

Strange silence whispers soft in evening dusk
while I stand and listen on my front lawn,
fragmented thoughts floating from dusty books
where spirits of dead people sleep in words.

I see characters from ten thousand tales
flashing around me on frail fairy wings,
each one begging for eyes to give them life
when minds of readers conjure them to play.

They want to live, the spirits of the dead,
but they have life only when people read
words that record the drama of their deeds,
otherwise they slumber in tombs of books.

Yet we living cannot spend all day long
conjuring the dead as we read their lost tales,
for we must live our own lives here and now,
seeking pleasure of companionship love.

We read their stories to perceive the cause
that lead to effects of their final fate,
pride of arrogance to their tragic fall,
or humility to their comedic success.

We read their tales to understand the past
and how we became what we are today,
but we must continue on our own path
to make our own mistakes with confidence.

I gaze at the luminous glowing cloud
that feels alive with cosmic consciousness,
yet nothing more than water sparkles clear
to reflect my own spirit back at me.