I'm deceased
my body and sweet decay
the rot setting in,
I still hear the beeping,
a flat line signaling my end.

It was all a poorly sung illusion,
the offbeat melodic rhapsody
a ****** mockery,
a slow sweet tinkering of bells
tolling a harsh lullaby.

The composition meandered for
so long, the songs changed my life,
beautiful textures,
my bones showing,
my love so bountiful, each moment
still-life.

I flicker to passages,
as I'm lowered in to the case,
I see the happy faces,
you see I'm deceased,
I'm not dead...
I'm at peace.

My hair and teeth,
against bleached cartilage,
and that face;
a contemptuous corpse,
fingers pointing inward,
freed heart and soul,
piercing chest,
a cavity...
okay,
he's dead.


http://www.robross.ca