The Chamber

Steps across the marble floor
in solemn reference for the sleeping souls,
whose names are written up the walls
of the mausoleum’s chamber.

Each one has its voice
that speaks unto my thoughts,
lives that call out to be remembered
beg to have their memories told.
Dates speak their generation
while I see the flashes of images
come into my head
about peoples, loves and tears,
which dressed another time.

The farther I walk
more sounds arise from behind
those sealed away stories,
let them enter my thoughts
until my fingers fine the words
to turn them into tales.

They creep into my night
sit by my bed
await for me to truly listen
so I can write what they say.