Dead among the living

 
No soul doth love the truth, save those long past,
For they have cast aside all mortal care.
Speak what thou wilt—thy words shall never last,
For death hears naught, nor heeds what tongues declare.

’Tis like a lone ride ’pon a midnight road,
The windows drawn, the world but hush’d and still,
No minstrel’s tune, nor chatter’s weary load,
Naught but thy thoughts to bend thee to their will.
None touch thee there, save fate’s most cruel design,
That in a breath may break thee from thy line.

Yet truth stands idle till thy path must end,
And lo! thou stepp’st from carriage into light.
That shielded space—now lost, no more to fend,
Thy soul laid bare to life’s most biting sight.
Thou dost belong to that which claims thee whole,
Where none may flee from this world's heavy toll.

Like one from death return’d, thou must obey,
Bow low to lies, lest fate dost cast thee wide.
The mightiest truths dost lie in mute decay,
Whilst lesser falsehoods bloom in haughty pride.

Oh, sweet the slumber of the grave’s embrace!
For none there bend, nor mask their own disgrace.

28.2.2025