'Neath Our Feet
Then in the past mysterious he stood
Alone, afraid, grand cross of marble dim,
And when the rain slips down the grass above,
It makes deceas'd think twice.
His friend who pass'd diseas'd, the old who claim
Senility and that quick car crash soon
Allows the leaves to start his wilt again;
It makes the dead think twice.
The blood is gone; he slit across thick veins;
He stole brief lives, degenerate in name,
And when he, Satan, burns thin souls alive
It makes dead thieves think twice.
Stabbed through the soul by piercing knives, he sings
As silent dead; he calls lost friends who scream,
And when the coffin drops below the ground
It makes the murder'd think.
(C) Joseph Tradescent, 28/5/2005
Poems
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