Greater riches you will not find Than in a simple pile of bones The churlish living or the careful dead? Haughtiness is earned, and tiring The sarcophagus speaks silently On your behalf You have no need to raise your voice. The dead are quiet also, but Have the final say In matters of the heart
Internment? Nay, Restorative slumber of Being dead to an uncaring world, Blissful indifference, Animal pleasures The contentment of a dog that guards a tomb The timeless pain of a widower, a comrade, an orphan Waiting for the return of an unconditional lover Already gone, disappeared into inevitability The silence, undisturbed; the Disintegration, the return to rot and ruin Halted by the sarcophagus
Embalmed, the mortal wounds heal The flesh knits, the soul welds Harder each time, more brittle Sharper and more estranged The sarcophagus takes as it gives.
I clasp the knives and display my Wisely chosen counsel, wishing the Fools and knaves would be a little wiser With what isn’t theirs to break. But it’s okay, living A half step removed from this world, Sheltered by the departed, but Not a mere sentimentalist Cut in on a franchise; A true successor and compiler A reformist, enriched and pedigree; Sarcophagus Poodle.