Segregated
Trembling forth, as the eddies flow,
I walk the segregated row—
Turn eyes upon that sainted stone
Which sets before me like a throne.
A face etched in marble, so real,
Its fleshly form I long to feel;
But words that singe the soul beneath
Remind me of all men bequeath.
A funeral procession passes by,
Unseen by naked, mortal eye.
Spirits gathered unto this place
To view their newest, lifeless face.
And as the morning's dew drips past
This speck in time not meant to last,
Mournful cries touching not live ears
Reveal each drop as living tears...
...That bleed from the souls, one by one,
In our accomplishments undone.
...That tinge the breeze as it floats by
To darkness no man could descry.
...That echo through the hollow void,
Life after love long since destroyed.
A testament to hope extinguished
By forms before me so distinguished…
Stone statues in a flowered bed,
Here to commemorate the dead,
Draw emotion, bypassed while living,
Toward an end so unforgiving.
Among the specters stand I here,
No animosity—no fear.
But long for them to see me too,
That I, again, might stand next 'you.
As gold outlines the mountaintop,
Bringing spectral dance to a stop;
As day creeps upon me, unbade,
Watching visions of splendor fade...
I stand alone, to sift the dust
Of circumstance I dare not trust.
For all I know, in losing you,
By all accounts I am dead too.
But unseen by those gone afore,
While those who linger on ignore
My daily walk on shadowed path,
I play part in the aftermath.
A haunting, ever caught between
This world and one far more serene;
Trembling forth, as the eddies flow,
I walk the segregated row.
Michael Anderson
