Exceptional Our perception of the dead The Dead by estory

In the dead of winter We seem to hear the dead Whisper of what is no longer here; The lives they lived, The places in which they stood.   In these shadows they seem to speak In parables and paradoxes Of mysteries of life That evaporate into thin air.   What happens when one dies? What does one see? What does one hear? Or do we become like the trees Standing still while the earth moves Around us, hardening into silence?   In the stones in the streams We seem to see the dead Standing still, while the spirit That was inside of them Flows on beyond us, Into something else.   The dead are no longer here. Whatever was alive in them is gone. It is we who keep remembering them As they were when they were with us, It is we who keep kneeling at the cold stone. Recognized Author Notes This is another poem I wrote around the time my father passed away and questions about death and the promise of the resurrection leapt to the forefront of my mind. I wrote a short story about this too, called Door into the Dark. Death really is the door into the dark; we really don't know what happens when we die. Our perception of the dead is born from our interaction with them while they lived. It is like a stone in a stream. The dead are now in that stream, moving on. To hold onto what is no longer here brings to mind one of Christ's sayings: "Let the dead bury their dead. As for you, seek the kingdom of God." and "The one who believes in me will live, even thought they die; and the one who lives his life believing in me will never die." estory

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