In the conversations of the dead,

There are truths laid bare in the words they can’t express,

The ones that slip the mind when they focus on distress,

Of the lives lost early in a sea of regret,

Remembering the words they never got to say,

To the ones that they loved that they let slip away,

Not telling them that they were the light that brightened our day,

As they stand by their casket and stare,

At the people that showed up they never knew that cared,

They stand lost and forlorn with tears falling from their eyes,

As they now see the life they left behind and the love they never realized,

The moments took for granted, the words they never said,

As they walk alone in the City of the Dead,

I love you, I miss you, the words unsaid that are more than they seem,

With their heads hung low and their wings heavy with broken dreams,

They paid more attention to themselves in this life that fades too fast,

With memories made alone that are forgotten with the past,

Life is fleeting but never too dull,

Miracles on display reflections of us all,

The light within shines brighter than the stars,

That are lost forever in the chambers of our heart,

In a life we never lived swallowed by the shadows,

That play on our souls and as our legacy starts to decompose,

We meet a man named Charon that carries us across The River Styx,

Through the night lit up by unlit candlesticks,

The fog so thick that we can’t see past it,

We strive to remember a little before we forget,

As we travel across the rivers of sorrow,

To the realm of the dead unknown and overshadowed,

By the lives they lived and the love they forgot to show,

Infected by the pain inside, that masks their happiness that the world will never know,

I love you and miss you they realize as they were never there,

Our regrets loom large when we remember we forgot to care,

It’s ok for life, unlike death will show that we were always there,

Like a deer in headlights we can only stop and stare,

And think of all the good and bad as we start to compare,

As we stand before their coffin and quietly stare,

Of a body no longer living and a soul no longer there,

Down below where their shadows roam and their silence weaves,

The whispers of the dead that silently speak,

For below the dirt are where their secrets never die,

Underneath their tombstones their stories come alive,

They never lived, never died, just passed through quickly to the other side,

The converse of love, heartache, happiness and pain,

Weathered through the battles that were lost in the rain,

Yet within each raindrop reflects their passions and their pain,

Where their dreams and hopes soar left all in vain,

With every rustle of fallen leaves,

They reawaken heaven in the echoes of a dream,

Rewriting the stories in the threads the they weave,

In the end of it all it’s never what it seems,

We think we’ll live for a long time but we could all die before the end of this rhyme,

We never question why our lives burns from both sides,

From ancient tales in the secrets of the trees,

Whispers of the sages convey what life means,

In the stillness of the night,

When the world is draped in silence,

Where the echoes of fate reverberate through the shadows,

Weaving tales that goes beyond the boundaries of life and death,

It is in this hallowed space where the dead speak in riddles of the unknown,

Where their spirits converse in bated breath,

Don’t you fret, don’t you forget, release your worries,

For even in the end the dead tell their stories,

In the graveyard of weathered stone,

They talk in tongues of their days long gone,

The grave plots overgrown with uncut grass,

They understand the truth of the ancients of the past,

They are not mere resting places of the long and recent departed,

They speak of the truth of the that which they were imparted,

Where there are libraries where their stories lie dead and untold,

Yet reach the minds of the brave and the bold,

Each tombstone a chapter, of a life slipped by not knowing what mattered,

Each one inscribed with a fragment of their lives,

For what they know in death they wish they could’ve told before they died,

For in the stillness of the twilight,

They speak the truth of but dark and light,

Where despair reeks in the air like a heavy cloud,

Where the truth is laid bare first quiet then unbearably loud,

Like the sound of thunder in hellish storm cloud,

Peeking around the corners haunting the living,

With pages of blessing and chapters oh so depressing,

Between the two there lies lessons profound,

To open up to the truths that are all around,

Or to sink in the waters of the ghosts that have drowned,

They speak of fears that haunt us and the ones we hold dear,

That to acknowledge the darkness that resides in fear,

Revealing the truth that out of the dark come the light,

Yet in the night holds a profound insight,

In the story of our lives they both complete our essence,

Every tear is a testament, every scar tells a story,

They urge us to listen in vain and in glory,

To the tales of their experiences, the sound of their silence,

To ignore their truths or listen to their guidance,

For admidst their sorrow lies the sea of tranquility,

Where we succumb to their horrors or their tales of serenity,

Of stories of redemption, love and courage,

To uplift us in their infinite knowledge,

They remind us that love is built on our hope,

Not on the treads of ropes that are broke,

They speak in riddles of the miracle’s of endings,

But also the destinies of each news beginning,

In the beauty of connection, the joy of shared laughter,

In the books of our lives we can rewrite every chapter,

To break the division and violence to share our humanity,

In the gift of our births lies the heart and soul of unity,

The departed speak of forgiveness and understanding,

Yet stuck in our ways it’s a hard truth of accepting,

They show us to cherish the moments that are fleeting,

Which we ignore most the time, but it’s ourselves we are cheating,

They teach us to embrace the present,

Or continue the path of our unholy descent,

Honor our friendships and love all that we can,

For life is over before we know it, and we must do what we can before it comes to and end,

To rectify our grudges before we take our last breath,

With the understanding that love transcends the finality of death,

For if we listen closely we see that even the dead tell stories,

To help us transcend the realm of purgatory!