Countless

The dead talk to me

not my ancestors, long dead

and they weren’t my friends

 

I’ve never met them

some of them died yesterday

some were killed today

 

either way, they talk

they go on about the dreams

they couldn’t follow

 

it’s hard to chase dreams

when someone is chasing you

then, out of the blue

 

you’re dead, with nobody

to talk to, but they find me

somehow they find me

 

they think I can free

them all from purgatory

but I don’t believe

 

in the dead, only

the living, I’m just giving

them my ears because

 

someone needs to hear

what we ignored while they lived,

someone needs to speak

 

loudly for the dead,

and it’s us with our red hands

they speak to you too,

 

but you ignore them

be careful though, once you start

listening to them

 

you can’t stop, you hear

every single voice clearly

and there are countless.

About soitgoes1984

I was born and raised on land stolen from the Pocumtuc. I now live on a small island in the middle of the Pacific ocean, on land that was stolen more recently, from the Hawaiians. I am addict, struggling to kick the habit of fossil fuel. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
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