The Mortician

From the back of my mind, hesitations.
We’ve been fooling ourselves from the start.
Stand up and fight me, I’m a coward.
I’ll hang you upside down, rip your heart out.

You’ll wake up in your grave,
feeling anew.
The scars on your face,
You won’t even recognize you.

Extra! Extra! Read all about it!
On the papers, you saw your appellation.
Headline says, “Is it Shelley’s abomination?”

No one believed you
when you said you’re alive.
It was clear to everyone,
That same night, you died.

Struggling, looking for believers.
You can’t fool yourself,
even the grimmest of the reapers.

Yet you continued to run,
looking for someone.
Road block, there was none.

‘Tis hard for you to swallow,
people were too shallow.
In the end you chose,
to hide in your own shadow.

Acceptance sees the beauty in death.
But admit it, no one sees,
beauty in the dead.

Decaying corpse, dehydrated thoughts.
Morbid denial, perception immortal.
Fear of confinement.
Fear of contentment.

Be at ease, it won’t bite
Show your anxiety,
be careful, it might.

Then a beam of light disperses.
From the shadow, it emerges.
The mortician who is fond,
of cadavers and carcasses.

For the most odd of them all
your eyes sparkled.
The pacer started to fall,
you felt your crux hurdled.

But the symphony was quite —
it was quite irregular.
The tick changes —
it changes bar after bar.

It’s a harmony, no one was ever fond.
The mere thought of it,
incomprehensible than beyond.

In a stanza,
you were both in sync
In the middle eight,
the boat started to sink.

Chorus upon chorus,
you both enjoyed the song.
And in a bard’s mind,
I don’t care how long.

I know the waves will travel,
I know there will be trouble.
But the unwritten tale of the mort and the man,
will soon therefore, unravel.

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~ by Drei Lim on September 10, 2012.

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