Unheard Epitaph

A Poem by P. K. Vandcast

The cold had twisted me in knots
My muscles ached with pain
Slumber fled and darkness will not
Yield to the light or wane

The silence, silence ever more
No cricket, chirp or sound
The rest that was, it did not snore
No future left but ground

Mourners many, or only few
I know not, however,
The sunset’s warmth or new dawn’s dew
Vanish’d now forever

A box of pine or satin lin’d?
Important? Not to me
Uncouth or eloquence refin’d
Means nothing now, you see

The words of men will crumble when
That final day shall come
Speeches cold or grand will then
Escape the ear that’s numb

Men’s evil lives beyond their coil
As Shakespeare said it best
Their good is buried in the soil
When once they’re laid to rest

If a man’s body’s all there is
Left in that final day
How sad, how cold, how futile his
Best actions in this play

Yet, if there is a grander scheme
Beyond man’s here and now
It would serve him to live and dream
In its pursuit somehow

Learn a lesson from this, my end
And clutch it to your breast
Eternal silence has no friend
And folly is its quest

Unheard Epitaph

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