Wait For the Night

Wait for the night to come, they said.
Wait for the shadows to fall.
Lean your ear to the wind, they whisper.
Wait for the dead to call.

For the dead will call
and you know them all,
the names, the dates, the places,
their manner of death
and what they left
when memory took their faces.

Wait for the night
when the moon is bright
and the dead will come calling for you.
They'll talk of their lives,
of husbands and wives
of children and how they grew.
They'll laugh off regrets
for the secrets they kept,
secrets that everyone knew.
And you'll cry for your mother
from under the covers
but she will be with them, too.

© Wittenberger, 26-2-2018