by Jakob Lint

Created on: June 16, 2008

Keeping the Dead

Slings and slugs will drink down mugs
of never a finer drink. Though they propose,
like many a rose, to only after prick.

Only after the sins and laughter
will they put on their horns. To pierce,
with truth so fierce, those wobbling to the thrones.

Those revelations reveled in exclamations
to be heard over the news. The daily intake,
for what's one to make, of never the lucky few.

Never those found dug in the ground
someplace dampened with dew. They'd never propose,
like the lucky overdose, to leave right on cue.

Right on time those choking on limes
greeting the patrons anew. Don't despair,
they dare declare, your troubles are only a few.

Your lives and friends are only trends
lacking in anything real. Their indifference,
makes all the difference, in keeping the world still.

Keeping the pace stuck in its place
where it ought to be. Killing the dead,
by keeping them fed, only no one is free.

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