PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

In all the stillness that remained

it seemed that there may have been

time

enough for the mind's reflections

time for the resettling of those memories

which had fluttered like so much

ticker tape

upon a bright avenging afternoon,

or upon some other time

only just before

this now.



But though the quiet afforded opportunity

it could not provide the means,

and eyes that continue mutely staring

into the noonday sun,

seem as though caught for all posterity

in the midst of some vital but now

rhetorically embalming question -



like...



"Why?"





Still, the question remains unspoken

and the answer as yet unknown,

while the eyes continue steadfastly in

their strange appointed duty

as failed keepers of the flame.



One dead man is all, curled beside another,

as if both may have rested well, once

inside each other’s dreams;

two dead men, then, where there were so many others,

who seemed as if they might be friends;

if not for all this lifetime's past

then at least for the passing of

this one life's time.



Yet even so, if at the end,

between the screaming of the shells

and the silence of the staring,

there may have been time enough

for faith to blindly answer

where cool logic could not prevail,

might have been enough

almost to have belonged,

almost to have asked the instinctive question

and to have almost heard the considered reply,

almost that much time -



there is still that which remains to be read

behind these staring eyes,

that, even so, here remains, at best,

one young man

whether or neither brave or foolish,

now forever young

and simply dead



and never so much before as then



alone.....