WITH faces turned up ever to the skies
They sleep forever, crumbing year by
year
Back to the earth that bore them ; but no fear
Moves them, nor joy: the dead are very wise.
They need no sorrow now, nor sad surmise
Of what life means; not in their graves, not here,
Survives one thought of theirs and not one tear;
Yet always they look upward to the skies. . . .
Within your flesh they live! – and being dead
You too shall guess not how you were defiled
By your vain horror being unbereft
Of your familiar fear: its hope, its dread;
No man may know more than a new-born child
Whose dreams are of the heaven he has left.
(E J Rupert Atkinson)
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Based on Topics: Man Poems, Joy & Excitement Poems, Heaven Poems, Dreams Poems, Hope Poems, Fear Poems, Wisdom & Knowledge PoemsBased on Keywords: unbereft