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A fronte praecipitium a tergo lupi. (In front of you, a precipice. Behind you, wolves.)

Saturday, April 19, 2014

Neunzehnte Tag (19)--Prose Poem--We Who Have Slumbered

This is a prose poem, meaning it doesn't have to rhyme. If you'd like to know more about what a prose poem is, go here. I hope you like it.

Waiting for the break of 
A new day,
Hover near
Hoping you'll notice
What others have not.
Can you hear us calling?
Can you feel our hearts 
 Beating in cinq
With the echoes of time?
So long we have tarried,
We who have slumbered.

Breathless we stand
As you read letters
From the dusty centuries past.
"Who were you?" you ask.
We ache to tell you
But cannot
For our earthly mouths, 
Long stoppered 
With winding cloths,
Will not obey.
We wait and watch
Begging without words
That you find us.
Search for our stories.
Bring us back to the light of day,
Remove the coins from your eyes
That you might see us,
We who have slumbered.

Fill the air with our long-dead laughter.
Bring our love,
A treasure trove in ancient 
Ribbon-bound letters,
Before your eyes and hearts.
Fill your ears with 
Our broken songs.
Heed the lessons 
For which we richly paid
With our bones.
We who have slumbered.

You have stood upon our shoulders
Our callused hands once buoyed
Your existence.
We are the builders of bridges. 
We quarried the stone
And mined the coal.
We are they who bled that you
Might live,
Safe in the cities 
We built.
We are the forgotten.
We who have slumbered.

We reach out our hands
To caress your cheek,
Children of our children's children.
Trailing age-shivered shrouds
We long ago ascended.
Now we wait, 
For you, our legacy,
With arms outstretched.
Bring our stories home with you.
Tie us to our long-lost families
With silken skeins of love,
We who have slumbered.
© 2014 by H. Linn Murphy

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