The Elysian Fields

Epitaph: Poetry Insania
by Everett A Warren
June 9, 1991

I. Epitaph

"Behold, fond man!
See here thy pictur'd life;
Pass some few years,
Thy flow'ring, Spring,
Thy Summer's ardent strength,
Thy sober Autumn fading into age,
And pale concluding Winter comes at last.
And shuts the scene;
But Virtue sole survives.
The storms of Wint'ry Time will quickly pass,
And one unbounded Spring encircles all."

-- "Erected to the memory of Mr. Stephen Winchester, Who
died July 8, 1798, Aged 75" -- East Parish Burying Ground,
Centre and Cotton Streets, Newton, Massachusetts

II. Dreamer

There is a silence which touches all,
And as it descends it stifles the cries of distress
That would otherwise rebound on the basalt walls
That stand towering and surrounding amidst decaying meadows
That thrive with the flitterings and crunchings of myriad creatures
That are better unseen by a dreamer's healthy eyes.

Deafening, deafening, deafening is this unholy quiet,
As it offers a boreal glimpse of thoughts unthought.
Withering, withering, withering in the timeless void,
As it offers a boreal glimpse of words unspoken.

To where do you walk, between the geometric designs
That speak of times long past and sorrows immense
And of the cold, cold welcome that your forefathers bring,
The hour so late and the moon so thin as you walk in the depths of dream.

To whom do you address as you speak to the shadows
That stand quiet and attentive and flutter at the edges of vision,
Waiting for the wisdom that descends from unhallowed aeries
That demands your reasoning as you dance down the steps of dream
And descend to the halls of slumber.

How many years long past did you crawl in infancy,
A mind forever dreaming of the beauty surrounding you,
Was this world a different place where everyone was kind,
Now you hear the tears of man and nothing can block the sound.

Time obeys the words that echo in your heart -- and time stops.




III. In Mourning

It seems so quiet since Peace has gone,
There's a still that has captured the world in a flash of lightning,
And the thunder underscores the silence.

Rain explodes on the earth around me,
I stop my prayer to watch a lonely drop on a blade of grass,
Like me, it has fallen from the heavens.

Lightning dances from my fingertips and tears well in my sable eyes,
Thunder is equaled by a cry from my lips and the earth shakes in fear.

Once long ago when time was new,
I ran through the darkened wood,
To find honest man proved a fruitless search,
Hand clutched to heart, weakened I fell.

As if mocking my nature, I peer into the reflecting pool and clouds obscure the moon,
The whirlpool of thought is similarly unclear, I raise my hands to the sky in prayer,
A search for answers yields only water dripping from empty hands...
Has it been that long?




IV. Memorial

My hand is held out to you in love, and it is refused,
On these Ancient Brooding Grounds I pledge my love for you,
I await an answer but you are silent.
What can it be that turns you away from me,
What makes the fires in your heart as cold as new fallen snow.

It seems only yesteryear we were walking hand in hand down cobblestone lanes,
And your heart touched mine, we were warm despite the cold new fallen snow.
Now you lie before me, cold and barren as the winter lanes once were,
Spring time has fallen on the lands, beauty grows around me, yet it is pale.

It was there that we first met, in the caverns of sleep,
Has it been so long that your heart no longer remembers
What it's like to beat in synchronisation with the world I created for you.

Now my tears find a way to your heart, as they rain on blades of grass,
With a wish, I see them absorbed, as they must,
With a whisper I pray they will reach your heart buried deep beneath me.




V. Lament

Is it too late to stop the pain, now that all the actors have left the stage,
And the curtain falls down on the lifeless stage called Planet Earth.
A cold welcome shall you receive, judged before an audience of your peers,
And your critics will serve sentence, and they shall find you wanting.

And another life is ended, another monument is erected before me,
Another stone to pray before, tears begin once more,
Another Tragedy, as I cry for Comedy,
I curse the sky as I watch you bury
Thousands upon thousands upon thousands more.

Copyright (c) 1991 Everett A Warren