Legacy

I listen to the dreams of a thousand dead dreamers,
those great paragons of peace and pain.
Where are they now?
They are here.
Still with me,
though their bones rattle in wooden boxes.
They are still speaking to the world.
Presenting their ideas on a paper stage
their whispers rustle in the turn of a page.
Their blood mingles with the printer ink.
They smile when the thoughtless think.

Dead?
No.
They are here.