September 15, 2016
by Roger Blakiston

The ancestors gather from centuries gone by
On the lawn of a mansion so grand;
The guests from all ages,
With mystics and sages,
Hear music strike up from the band.

Some faces I know, while others just stare,
With eyes that are haunting, yet deep;
Each one tells a story
Of their former glory;
Let me not waken up from this sleep.

The food it is served by the waiters so neat,
And the dishes are fit for a king;
The wine is the best,
While the whiskey has zest;
A soprano commences to sing.

They’re tumblers and jesters and dancers of grace;
There are sirens and jugglers so great.
The laughter is loud
From this mystical crowd,
As they eat from voluptuous plate.

Great grandmother’s there, and so are her kin,
Who lifetimes gone past I did know;
Here time does stand still,
As glasses do fill,
For a toast to salute such a show.

The message I get from this magical feast
Is that none of us ever does die;
We’ll all meet again
After this earthly plane,
So with partings there’s no need to cry.

In other dimensions, beyond time and space,
Our loved ones will join us again;
For those we share much
Will all stay in touch,
And death shall not sever the chain.

michael mirdad