The City of the Dead

Enshrouded in clandestine
darkness, the cold comforting
embrace womb like and earthy,
spirit voices whisper a long way
off and yet pale lips as feathered
wings stir against my flesh, numb
otherwise the dead alone renew it
with life.

Ethereal beauty, starless,
but not devoid of light, floating
lanterns like jellyfish, suspended
in the depths of the sea, swirl by
me, while I am groundless.

A melody plays, mournful,
joyful, how the banshees now
sing, they bring us home in
voices unimaginable by human ears,
no longer reasons for fear
we can hear the truth behind their tones.

An Avalon, Fairyland,
a lost Atlantis, a world
no longer reachable by the living,
who long ago rejected the magic
and mystery, it has become ours,
our city of the dead.