We Are The Dead

We are the dead.

Lost in a memory, remembered

As the things we are not

Which is better than the things we are

And worse than what we were.

We are the dead,

Recollected as a life goes on

As the things we do not

Are done for us, mantles passed on,

Taken from what we were.

We are the dead

Reflected in a pool of memory

A glass at a time, collected

When needed, and when unwanted

Ripples in frozen water.

We are the dead

Caught between two mirrors in a living mind.

Infinity collected in a memory,

Filtered down as murmurs, present

In the past.

Written by 

Matthew Wells