THE GRAVE YARD

There is magic
In this Holy place
Beneath the gold fermenting leaves
There in the darkness 
Of dampest soil
Where alien insects
Seethe and toil
A hidden doorway
To paradise
Disguised as rotting things
Decayed
Where only the blessed 
And truly found
Walk the ghostly lighted way
For there are tunnels 
Under moss and weeds
Criss crossed in glorious ways
Where the wisest souls
Are called to grace
Released from sorrowed day
There presented joyous routes
Explore
Hearts gently balmed in peace
All exhalted
And with blessed key
Unlock the sacred door
And troubles are left
Like discarded dress
Dropped on a world  
That hurries to forget
To cover all footprints 
With indifference and scorn
 As if none indeed
Were ever born
As if life were only 
Wisps of dreams
The truth elsewhere
Unknown, unseen
Hidden from unworthy eyes
In the souls abyss 
Beneath blue skies
Blind and deaf
Oblivious
Just as baby things
New born
Helpless in life's ignorance
Disbelieving
All faiths torn
For life burdens death
With cold disgrace
And life screams in horror
At such loss of breath
But the truth stands bold 
In this hallowed place
Where whispering spirits 
Full of grace
Sing loud the songs
Of hope and faith
For death is only journey 
To the healing place.
Marion Price (2019)