Oct 31
Dia’ de los Muertos
The dead are whispering
with the fallen leaves,
their voices dry and rasp.
Moths in a spider’s web;
the bodies shriveled
but papered wings hold fast.
At tide’s edge, waves rise high
up and over the sand
where driftwood bones are cast.
And the moon overflows
a dark eastern sky
filled with copper and brass.
This, the day of the dead
is upon us all—
death over life surpassed.
Pamela Olson, 10/31/08
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Whispering leaves!!
Beautiful! Wonderful rhythm and easy rhyme. The imagery is lovely.
Darkly beautiful and quietly sombre, a mood and tone I especially admire.
Very succinct and causes me to smile.
Wonderfully, delightfully dark and vivid! A fantastic poem.