In my dream, I walked among the tombstones,
Upon a hill in silvery moonlight.
My bare feet, abraded by brittle bones,
Felt pinpricks of pain in the soft, dark night.
The scent of attar assailed the night air,
Advancing in waves across the bleak lawn;
To settle in open graves here and there,
And hide in shadow, afraid of the dawn.
To honor the graveyard, the chill wind died,
Replaced by a silence that screamed of death.
Until the black voice of a nightbird cried,
The haunting wail of a victim’s last breath.
I felt the sharp chill of the tortured earth,
Opened to welcome the final remains,
Of travelers, whose long journey from birth,
Suddenly ended in terrors and pains.
Then in the deep shadows, off to my left,
A kneeling man glowed with a soft green light;
His ageless face saddened, like one bereft,
His vert countenance ghostly as a wight.
He started to sing, as his eyes met mine,
His voice as tender as leaves in the spring.
He sang a temple in which to enshrine,
The wonders of a short life, done living.
The Minstrel stood up, and he smiled at me.
He said, “You dream walk upon distant shoals;
You’ve journeyed beyond the waking life sea.
You have come to the Garden of Lost Souls.”
He told me that some who suddenly die,
Leave behind for their families no trace.
He finds these lost souls, and he helps them fly,
To a peaceful rest in this quiet place.
Then he smiled once more, and he sang a song.
He stretched forth one green hand, and touched my head.
I fell in the light and knew nothing more,
Until morning light woke me, in my bed.
Mick McKellar
September 2014
In our dreams, we often journey where we would not dare to tread in the light of day.
Mick
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