a look at the dead

On my mantle, 'side my bed
sit the portraits of the dead.
In soundless seconds from the past,
afore the smudged and fragile glass,
I am looking at the dead.

Watch the epoch of a life,
nuptials sweet, assurance rife;
celebrations, jubilees
inert smiles and faded glee,
catch me spying on the dead.

Ethereal moment, childhood spark
ever stagnant, halcyon hark
And in the sanguine, nebulous gleam
with unambiguous esteem
I see the dead peer into me.

On a mantle, 'side a bed
sit the portraits of the dead.
In frozen moments from the past,
behind the thin and dusty glass,
see me standing with the dead.

* * *
Written on Samhain 2017.