The Glorious Dead

How to look forward to Remembrance day, this time of the year, and also All Hallows Eve, All Souls Night, Samhain, that time of borderlands explored between the living and the dead? This poem tries to do something of that, and to go with it, I have chosen a painting by the extraordinary Spanish surrealist
Remedios Varo.

The Glorious Dead

On battlefields, the shadows of the dead,
Walk once more, where blood was shed;
And they cry for justice, cry for peace:
That wars may end, the killings cease,
Beyond the veil, on this sacred night,
We mourn, we weep, in candle light:
The glorious dead, those died in war,
Their voices echo beyond that door;
In ancient times, by dolmen came:
Times move on, but still the same;
Thin places, faint voices echo still,
Across the valley, upon the hill,
In Tara met the clan once more,
Where druids came, with olden lore;
The tribal chiefs, come gather round,
Bonfires burn, while musics sound;
The harp is playing: sweet and sad:
The glorious dead, the good and bad;
They died long ago, they died last year,

Lands far away, and lands so near
Of war, and pestilence, sickness, age
But be at peace, do not now rage!
This is the time for honour shown:
For all the dead, for bone of bone;
So we light our candles, do not fear,

As we mourn those so very dear;  
Take part in this journey, on our way:
Our own mortality, the price we pay,
For love and life, for joy and laughter,
Is pain and weeping, loss thereafter;
But in time alive, nothing is ever lost,
Of those who lived, those who crossed,
Beyond the veil, on this sacred night:
Like stars above, they shine in light.