A Graveyard Party
My Graveyard of dreams seems heavy and depressed.
A party seems to be in order. Let them rejoice and shout that they once had substance and form, that they walked among us, out here beyond the fence. They once danced, swam, ran and hoped. They were, oh so strong in those by-gone days. They held much promise and authority, a guiding light.
What now for the poor little waifs? What joy, what remembrances, can they claim now?
Yes, a party for my departed dreams. A festive and gay celebration to honor their gifts, strengths and courage. Each one to share a specialness among the storytellers. A burning fire to encourage them, perhaps a maypole, a dance for all to smile and sway. Instruments to beat, strum and blow. Noise, a clatter, a cacophony of harmonized release.
And then… to rest. To lie among the cold stones and green grasses. To live forever now in silence in death. So maybe one day a rebirth will claim one or two in a different circumstance, maybe for another soul? This one?
Yes, a party for my dreams as they are depressed and alone in their graveyard. An opportunity to meet one another to greet the newest, freshest dreams of all. To provide solace, as they lie for eternity in the darkness of death.
Poem by M. Casey