On All Hallows Eve
In a platter of grief
By the spirits at the glass
Laughing with us, watching our eyes,
Inviting our minds to partake
Of generosities only known to
The temporarily dead.
We call them what has passed,
Still they float, are held in crystal,
Safe beyond our reach
Even as the veil boasts transparence.
Our task of forgetting
Is so large
That the black must seem
To take over.
There is so much here to do
That begs transcendence
And the dress-up ghosts go gleeful
To the darkness.
The spirits are content
That we know that they are here
And we are as children weighed
With someone else's dreams.
And the memories
Are satisfied
That we can live in them
As we decide.
The future seems
So far away
At times like these,
As if it's passed us by.
