For the Cemetery Dwellers

Fear keeps the living at arms length, knowing that they too will
One day meet their fate inside some
Rotting box, deep in the Earth.  No longer visiting as once
They did, they cast your memory into shadows, and
Hear not your voices calling.  Only the cemetery workers will
Elude to your presence when they speak of winds that suddenly
Calm, as they come near your cubicle graves.  Is this the price
Extracted through generations of removal from the old rites and
Mysteries of Death?  To be forgotten, and left in this wasteland,
Endlessly wandering among the manicured lawns?  Descendants no longer
Tend to these cities of the Dead, nor do they
Enshrine you, their Beloved Ones, with words of joyful
Remembrance.  Cut loose from the fabric of time, drifting beyond the
Years, you long now only for closure.  So I have come to
Dine amongst you, to set your end in motion, and to
Wash away the trauma that has persisted.  Death should be
Escape and elation, not tomb and torture; therefor I call to you, those
Languishing within the past and having no future.  And I call to the
Lords and Ladies into Whose care you soon shall
Enter.  Be still.  Know that your time has come at last.  You will
Roam free in fields of flowers and deep green, and feel the piercing
Sunlight of Elysium bathing you in endless love and wealth and beauty.

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