Author Topic: Lo, there is Silence. I shall forget thee Not  (Read 965 times)

Lorenzo

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Lo, there is Silence. I shall forget thee Not
« on: April 28, 2008, 11:40:04 AM »
Dawn has flashed up the startled skies,
Night has gone out beneath the hill
Many sweet times; before our eyes
Dawn makes and unmakes about us still
The magic that we call the rose.
The gentle history of the rain
Has been unfolded, traced and lost
By the sharp finger-tips of frost;
Birds in the hawthorn build again;
The hare makes soft her secret house;
The wind at tourney comes and goes,
Spurring the green, unharnessed boughs;
The moon has waxed fierce and waned dim:
He knew the beauty of all those
Last year, and who remembers him?

Love sometimes walks the waters still,
Laughter throws back her radiant head;
Utterly beauty is not gone,
And wonder is not wholly dead.
The starry, mortal world rolls on;
Between sweet sounds and silences,
With new, strange wines her beakers brim:
He lost his heritage with these
Last year, and who remembers him?

None remember him: he lies
In earth of some strange-sounding place,
Nameless beneath the nameless skies,
The wind his only chant, the rain
The only tears upon his face;
Far and forgotten utterly
By living man. Yet such as he
Have made it possible and sure
For other lives to have, to be;
For men to sleep content, secure.
Lip touches lip and eyes meet eyes
Because his heart beats not again:
His rotting, fruitless body lies
That sons may grow from other men.

He gave, as Christ, the life he hadÑ
The only life desired or known;
The great, sad sacrifice was made
For strangers; this forgotten dead
Went out into the night alone.
There was his body broken for you,
There was his blood divinely shed
That in the earth lie lost and dim.
Eat, drink, and often as you do,
For whom he died, remember him.

























Lo! History has come. Lo! Thy body resteth on sacred ground for many a year.
Lo! Life has come and gone. Fleeting with time in constant passing, in non-ending rapture.
Yet, in colloquial silence, there is peace. For you were. You lived. You felt.
So you will NEVER truly be forgotten. Though long gone now, you existed.

And so,therefore,  never truly forgotten.




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kiamoy

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Re: Lo, there is Silence. I shall forget thee Not
« Reply #1 on: April 29, 2008, 12:02:38 AM »
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Bambi

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Re: Lo, there is Silence. I shall forget thee Not
« Reply #2 on: April 29, 2008, 12:11:37 AM »
It seems it is a forgotten Jew's cemetery, right?

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Lorenzo

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Re: Lo, there is Silence. I shall forget thee Not
« Reply #3 on: May 01, 2008, 03:07:57 AM »
I visited this old cemetery on the outskirts of Meadville, Pennsylvania. The cemetery was founded in the late 18th century during the founding of the town; circa 1788. There are gravestones around the area that were planted even before that date; so it suggests that the town was settled either by colonists or militiamen who died in conflict with Native Americans who lived in the area or with the French, who attacked the area during the French and Indian War of 1763.

The cemetery is a precursor of today's Greendale Cemetery, which is active today. The gravestones and gravesites are so old. Mostly during the late 1700s to the early to mid 1800s.

One thing I noticed, which I find symbolic and sentimental is the fact that there are no roses, there is a lack of offerings in the grave sites from their family members. Most of their family members are either dead as well; and the memory of these dead have already passed to the pages of history. Forgotten by their great-great-great grandchildren.

But even if that is so, even if they are forgotten by man, God has not. He loves them so much that every year, he allows the trees around them to bloom in spring, to sprout beautiful colors of pink, green, orange, red. Every autumn season, he allows the leaves to fall to cover and rain on the gravestones, showered in the colors of brown, red, yellow-brown. What man forgets, God continues and completes.

Visiting such old gravestones are emotional for me in a way.
Because, I am one of the typical youth who have already forgotten the names of my ancestors. I do not even know the name of my great-great-great-great grandfather, my great-great-great grand father, my great-great grandfather and their wives. Their families. Their lives. I do not even know where they are burried, where their final resting place is. In Bohol, In Leyte, or even in China.

Visiting these old gravesites in a way allows me to visit my ancestors, who all have gone to their eternal rest. It saddens my heart to know that I will never know their names, where they are located, but I find solace and some kind of comfort in the fact that I will someday see them again. God willing, it won't be for ages to come.

Dearest great-great-great-great Lolo, of my maternal and paternal side, who where you? Where did you live? How did you eat like? How was life like? How did you sound like..?
How did you look like?




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