Death Gives A Soul Their Dreams

(Unimaginalities)

Death gives a soul their dreams
Back to them forever and all that
They thought or deemed of import
Becomes a shimmer, a spray of dust,
No sadness, no melancholy, no grief,
No woe, no anguish, no sorrow will
Survive the heavy, overcast sheath
Of night for which a soul has been
Keening since dark became the light
And a name was branded for our pain.

Some hearts do conspire to refuse
(There is a word that should go
Here but it does not exist.)
Gifts of old memories and wishes,
Some minds do forget the chancy
Way possibility swayed toward
Another world, one of clouds, and
Gems, but gems so beautiful their
Worth is not measured but recorded
On a tablet of spider silk saying:
Their worth is that they are free
And free of us and ours and all the
Foreboding claims of the empty air.

Some thoughts do swim and leap and
Dive in deeper and murkier depths
Of viscous sticky water that burns
And rushes and flows across the skin
As if caught in a flurry of confusion
And undulating iridescent bubbling
Misery.

A mind can often know facts and a
Mouth spout them like a fish in a
Fountain in a square of concrete in a
Park in a city in a country on a
Continent on a planet in some
Familiar universe or a place so
Beyond them possibility becomes
A rhyme, a chart, a trill, a gurgle,
A scream, and ends in a shuddering
Cascade of sun-drenched, slightly
Faded--no such word can exist--

Unimaginalities.