I once carried a corpse.
I caressed it over my shoulder,
and walked for hundreds of miles,
bearing its extra weight.
Dragging my feet beneath me,
I moved from town to town,
and in each cheap midnight motel,
someone asked me,
"why?"
But I never listened.
I trekked onward,
through snow, sleet, and rain.
Through blisters, blazing heat, and unbearable pain,
till I reached the gates of hell.
When I arrived there,
the gate keeper looked me in the eyes,
and smiled.
I handed him the corpse,
and turned to walk away.
Then he asked me,
"why?"
I stopped.
Silence.
Then he asked again, elaborating,
"why do you bring me your own corpse?"
I smiled,
and walked away.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
I once carried a corpse.
I caressed it over my shoulder,
and walked for hundreds of miles,
bearing its extra weight.
Dragging my feet beneath me,
I moved from town to town,
and in each cheap midnight motel,
someone asked me,
"why?"
But I never listened.
I trekked onward,
through snow, sleet, and rain.
Through blisters, blazing heat, and unbearable pain,
till I reached the gates of hell.
When I arrived there,
the gate keeper looked me in the eyes,
and smiled.
I handed him the corpse,
and turned to walk away.
Then he asked me,
"why?"
I stopped.
Silence.
Then he asked again, elaborating,
"why do you bring me your own corpse?"
I smiled,
and walked away.
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio
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