Drill #8 (A poem for the dead)

I have seen the faces of the dead, 

I have heard the stories of the old.

The have all sang for me, 

Sweet elegy and sanctity

That cannot be taken to their graves.

 

How come the living have lost sight and sound

While those who have passed have long walked above ground?

Like ghosts who haunts only the gifted, 

Only a few can see, while a lot are blinded.

Why do the living judge the beautiful and the lame, 

When unseeing monsters, they have all became?

The paths to light have been obscured long ago

But 'til this day they have yet to know. 

Do they not see the face of God among the living, 

When everyday He stares at them while slowly dying?

His voice speaks loudly through the clanking of a can-

Yet we ignore Him, proudly calling ourselves a man. 

Those who have passed, in truth are the lucky ones.

For while our hands are full of glitters and of charms,

The angels have warmly welcomed them in their arms. 

The comforts they seek have long been found, 

While our eyes are still closed, and our ears lost to sound.

We pity the dead while glorifying the living-

But those who have passed are the ones who really lived

And those who are living, are buried deeper than the dead.

Reviews

[AshGrey]

'Tis true. The dead are better off than the living. But surely we can be happy while we live and content when we die.

[Carissa Marie]

Yes, I believe so too. Thanks for reading. :)