I can foresee now,
that from here-on-in
I am due to hear
nothing more from them
other the absurdities
caused by that old
bastard's will.
No one knows where it is,
apart from the two
who don't want anyone
to know where it is.
No one knows a thing
about it's contents
apart from...
I could go on.
What baffles me
is the ease
at which
they cast stones
and snake around
each other knowing
that this place
only exists
because of that dead object
and what those not
quite so dead objects
didn't or did do
for him
and to him.
Now there is a corpse
and that is evidently not enough.
They want more:
A monopoly over that corpse,
the complete removal of blood
from veins that now sit,
charred, in a tasteless urn.
It is a senseless battle
between unintelligent mourners,
where, once upon a time
there stood my father.