The will to commune with the departed
Has troubled us since funerals began
We yearn to get the dialogue started
With palimpsests of some woman or man
For we tremble with febrile suspicion
That there are things that living minds can't know
Secrets concealed from mere mortal vision
Can be seen by a seance candle's glow
Whence this faith in the wisdom of the dead?
Do they not wish to be left in dark peace?
What thought occurs inside a rotting head?
Resting, do you not wish trouble would cease?
Perhaps we ought to leave the dead alone
Disturbing their peace, we ought to bemoan
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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