<a href="https://www.japantimes.co.jp/news/2016/01/26/national/crime-legal/japans-crying-politician-appears-court-pleads-not-guilty-fraud/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Source</a>
If the dead came back
What astonishing things they’d tell us,
How our yoked and heedless eyes might fill with tears,
<a data-snax-placeholder="Source" class="snax-figure-source" href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3921786/Tears-anguish-devastation-female-Clinton-voters.html" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener">http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3921786/Tears-anguish-devastation-female-Clinton-voters.html</a>
Our too-full hands drop down beside our sides…
But not one comes
To tender the silence with a mournful murmur.
We go out about our lives
And only on rare, exquisite moments stop,
Aghast, belittled, feminised, to wait, to watch
The streaming multitudes of ghosts beguiling time
Clambering to speak, their o-mouths working gasp-outs
<a href="https://pixabay.com/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Source</a>
Of such mournful heraldries, and heresies,
Of pasts beguiling presents,
Of futures glanced by present pasts,
Of pasts which never rest:
Like bats, clinging and flapping to the blackened walls of empires,
Rotten at the core;
Or else, like crows, festering and darkening
The already darkened air,
They will not word their dire-filled messages
But stubbornly dead resist the probe and pressure.
O what tragedy’s already ready to make
The past repeat its always present,
Worrying our futures down beyond our present pasts.
If only the dead came back
What savage admonishings they’d give us!
<a data-snax-placeholder="Source" class="snax-figure-source" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/15979685@N08/11222103073" target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener">https://www.flickr.com/photos/15979685@N08/11222103073</a>