They Poem by Thomas Noel Smith

They dream
With tight closed eyes
And long-stilled tongues

They speak in silence
More deafening than the roar
Of a raging waterfall

They move among us,
Around us and through us
Showing us that what they are,
We will become.

They point
With still and broken hands.
To the swinging door
That opens to another room.

They wait with all things,
And they are company with all
To which time has lost
Its meaning.

They wait
They wait for us.