I Ponder in His Silence

Death, as a personified figure, or metaphorical tool (haha), tends to appear with some regularity in my work. As a mortal creature bound but tenuously to this coil, death is something that occasionally stirs my soul to contemplation, and in plainer words

The words of Ozymandias you heard,
As carved upon the pedestal of stone;
The dust by phantom whispering is stirred:
Look on my works ye mighty and intone

To him who holds oblivion’s delight,
Who speaks with golden voice and twisted tongue,
Who summons terrors forth from softest night,
Unfeeling and untouched, but not unsung!

But Cain! Who struck your righteous brother down?
Brutus! Did you your kingly friend betray?
Iscariot, a kiss did tie around
The noose that holds you ever in its sway.

To whom for mercy shall I make address?
Oh pale and troub’some Rider, now confess!

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[Emily B]

Edgar Lee Masters advises in his poem "Silence"

And you wonder that the dead do not tell you of Death
their silence shall be interpreted as we approach them.