The Corpse
A Poem
The following poem was inspired by Bear Lake Encyclical by Sam Downey-Higgins
The Corpse
The violent ends of teetering lives
Are spoken naught by glit’ring gems,
Nor precious earths or sparkled prose,
But of the record, aye, it speaks.
The tepid numbers, the desiccate
Minutes of sunken eyes and sweat
Are ledger’d memories long past,
All now forgotten and recited no more.
Our fading flesh has fallen cold,
Man’s artifice is all that remains;
Loose pallid bones of industry hang
By the sinews of corroded joints.
Our vacant shells with stucco’d skin
Are yesterday’s forsaken husk,
Their window panes like crackèd teeth,
Those shingled echoes in peril lean.
Our mangled Titan bulk crippled,
Askew from wresting of its spine,
Wrenched by the force of mechanic
Contortions. Pity these rotten beams!
These rusted spires house no seers,
Nor domicile worthy knights,
But merely bivouac the rats,
Those festered plague bearers of rot.
My midnight corpse of brick, fallen,
Collapsed from weight of burdens vast,
Too vast for mortal bodies’ might,
Too damning for the world to save.
The end, this whimpering end, is told
In sweeping strokes that carry heft,
And delicate notes to suggest
A doleful truth too great to bear.
Wow, this is beautiful.