Dennis L. Siluk

I walked with the dead—quietly
     In the darkness of its vaults
     Looking at its ruined past,
Their shadows taunting above my head!

In the twilight of these unwashed vaults
     Shadow-lands, unresponsive
     Yearning hands, vaguer faces:
All shadowy hanging limbs above me!

All these grim and ghostly shapes I see
     Have tears, sorrow, and misery.
     No joy upon their faces at all;
I pause, I sigh, I see thee, see thee…

(I am like a dreamless bird, caught
in, in the vanishing shadow-lands of
a vision.)

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