Dead Things

Stored bodies crumpled
in haphazard piles
Exhibiting
varying levels
of decay
Rotting and putrefying
Baking a feast for the
larva hatched from eggs
Developing the wing spawned pupa,
ready to flutter away…
...to a new space

A graven stench
permeates the atmosphere
imprisoning the living
behind its foul bars

Providing perverse
comfort and peace
Home Sweet Home
to the wretched and
the unreleased

Furnished from
vast catalogues of issues
eternally bouncing
on a grief-staged
parade
Mail-order
Store bought
Hand-me-downs
and even some pieces
Custom-made

Denying the forgotten
ironic connections
While still craving the
desire to move
far, far away

An identity
hope
happiness manufactured
a catalyst for memorable moments
nurturing life and living
controlled by an
uneducated
unspiritual
desperate
yearning for
a better day

Tagged for ownership
But bankrupt and
unable to afford
the price to pay

Dysfunctional
exhibitions of
responsibility

Stunting
well-meaning
gestures
of care

Empty boxes
Strewn without compassion
Symbols of overwhelm

Stress personified: felt, tasted, and worn

Ignoring the
salvific beckoning
to walk away
and nix the mourning
so to
Let the dead
bury the dead



~ D²,4.21.14,7: 17 PM

by Deborah Dalton

Other poems of DALTON (25)

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