Sunday, January 22, 2012


we sit guard,
at the doors of our past,
the only ones knocking,
are our own demons,
to be released,
to rummage and plunder,
through now,

the now is good,
it always is,
when threatened,
if perched perilously,
on the edge of oblivion,
from the past,
let the sleeping monsters lie,

the best grave,
well deserved,
a eulogy without memories, and
the epitaph unmarked,
silence -
eloquence of the dead.