Member Poem

The living and the damned, 
those at peace and those restless,
traverse the floor in harmony, 
all in suits and their best dress.
Oh, who could have planned,
planned the motion of the sea? 

Triple metre suits the living,
and duple suits the dead, 
so here we are sitting,
wallowing in our own self dread. 

Let the waves crash,
polyphony at its finest. 
The two collide, 
and afterwards, 
Silence.