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How The Dead Bury Their Dead
by Dan KastenMirrors squeezed of meaning
truth in numbers no more convincing
than sunlight through a water glass
sound the trumpet and let the heavens open
with no new tale to tell
were I to smite his ruin
would you still see yourself in his flag
dont look in your satchel for something to trade
it has been empty for weeks, for
truth is more than a lyric in a love song
or selling shoplifting as a promise
with swollen knees and lingering cough
I have seen enough winters to know
how the dead bury their dead.
12/14/2008 Author's Note: Darker days will follow...
Posted on 12/14/2008
Copyright © 2025 Dan Kasten
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Graeme Fielden on 12/14/08 at 08:51 PM a powerful message and grim forewarning, Dan. Nice work as always. |
| Posted by Anne Boulender on 12/14/08 at 08:51 PM Yep, sadness will come to those who call evil good and call good evil. Let the filthy be filthy still. |
| Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 12/15/08 at 01:28 AM Right, and whatever happened to, "with malice toward none." Good to see a post from you. Thanks. |
| Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 12/15/08 at 02:28 PM Your dry wry pointed writing style and soothsayer wit crawls into my chest and lingers longer than a visit to your poetry. This is a favorite, no surprise to me. |
| Posted by Susan Q Tomas on 09/17/09 at 05:41 AM Forget my name. |
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