, , , ,

He hears the voice of the dead
singing words that had meaning then
now have meaning once again, if but for only a moment

Rekindled feelings of long long ago,
when he was a boy fresh out on his own,
the melodies are simple,
the words seem somehow silly now,
the music sounds primal, primitive unsophisticated yet so real
a song that fires reminiscent feelings of ‘then’

He was not a virgin then, though hardly a man
he holds again those feelings of dreams
once held elusively in his hands,
seen only with the eyes of his heart

The voice singing is gravely sweet,
it sings feeling and seeing in each word
as if it were a word never sung before
He hears anew what is long gone and can be no more,
he laments that this passing passion will soon pass again,
he wonders will there be anymore voices from the grave
to sing with such grace and fire in which to inspire him,
will he hear words sung again
that will invoke emotions in new old way,
to offer a new day—to run—to ride—
to hide from hiding

He mourns not for the dead
but for the loss of youth he hears
in the voice of the dead singing