The dead are never silent

The dead are never silent, though one would think they'd be,
Encoffined at their rest in tiny plots of earth;
No more among us, headstones marking where they lie
In serried ranks arranged on well-trimmed verdant fields.

The living muddle through the business of each day;
Life is for the living, and the dead? Dead and gone;
But time's passage allows for lyric tales to grow,
Nostalgic histories, enhanced each passing year.

In our dreams, the dead look vulnerable, and young;
Much younger than we are now, and their laughter rings,
As they smile and talk about a lemon-yellow future,
Where we live now, but they do not; or so it seems...

Not really gone, the dead still speak and make their case;
Unembarassed ghosts, contributing with gusto,
Pronouncing approbation, or dire admonitions;
Adding to life's tapestry, they still live.