What, are we in limbo –
The street filled with skeletons
And faces deathly white?
Pallid, strangely festive,
Sun still high, dusk not yet set –
All the in-betweenness of life
And death combine in suburban street.
Scout Hall silent for once in the week
And houses ring with trick or treat
Before the day the faithful pray
And make oblation for the dead
And for the lost ones, limbo-dreading,
Souls unsure of where they stand,
The cost already paid and yet
Strange parties rage, the in-between
The only place we know.
Published by Matthew Pullar
Teacher, writer, blogger, husband, father, Christian. Living in Wyndham in Melbourne's west, on the land of the Kulin Nation. Searching for words to console and feed hearts and souls.
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