Festered flesh and worm entwined,
death lay wanting, and life inclined,
to wonder how in such disrepair,
a body could rise and be restored,
to a life so harshly taken,
a paltry blade through heart and spine,
so quickly caused the soul depart this realm.
And now is dark moist grave,
a thought to remedy this plight without promise,
rotting flesh and discomfort anomalous,
as mind free from pain,
wishing a birth to try again
and skin to call their own,
blood and bone as new to wear a life.
The yearning grew but silence did ensue,
without a word or soul to care for injustice,
just the weight of earth and writhing worms
and cold darkness instilled, so
with own re-cognizance,
a corpse did struggle to find the air,
reaching out through earth its bony fingers,
like a flower to bloom.
As the earth cracked
and a corpse did resume its earthly path,
if not a little gross, disheveled and in skinless attire,
to wander the night, limping, struggling
with few muscles attached,
brittle bones at brink of snapping,
it strode the night groaning.
By dawn the night furnished no life at all,
and knowing its flesh was hanging precariously,
the corpse climbed back into its familiar grave,
snuggled in with worms and bugs so needy,
and breathed a relieved breath
of cold wet earth,
to dream of other things less human.
Tony DeLorger © 2017