Last call echoes off marble walls

the laughter dims and the slow crawl begins

Voices stitched together by threads of desperation

frayed and tattered and staring down the storm

Let the bullets fly higher than before

count the dead later, after the wraiths have risen

who come now to walk among us

the memory behind their eyes a silk screen

printed like veins of pulsing fire

scratched across the ledger of their lost souls

Somewhere out among the uncarved tombstones

the rest lie waiting for the séances to begin

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Have you ever tried purposefully to speak to the dead?

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Photo by Katie Moum on Unsplash