Silence

@ Bonaventure Cemetery, Savannah, Georgia

The living walk amongst the dead;

every day, under the southern sun.

Their cultivated whispers

rarely hearkened,

scarcely ever welcomed,

remain buried underneath

the picnicking quilts,

distorted by the giggling

of sun-crazed children,

softly muted

by the snoring of exhausted adults,

hidden within creaking trees,

swaying in the soft, gentle breeze,

summoning remembrances

of times long gone,

moaning and groaning about

olden, golden days

that they assure me were neither,

kinder nor gentler.

Eternally enslaved

by the whims of the winds,

they are all

basking in the beauty

of a perfect southern day,

enjoying the unexpected reprieve

of the fall to come,

the unexpected calm

before the storm.

If we sit still, silently listening

then you too

can hear them whispering

of storms

that have been

and that are coming.

Where the dead haunt the living;

every night, under the summer moon.