let the dead dog lie dead

Floraliënlaan

Here lie those in hope
of getting better.
On the other side, those who rather hope they were
good as the evergreens
sway. Turn
away and weep.
t ‘Was foreseen.

’t Was long a time ago on planet Earth:
Man still died,
gave natural birth, famine, disease, war and hope still reigned,
Graces, Virtues and Muses still complained

of love.
Evergreens stood placid guard
over the deciduous dead, their part
played and never more
to play again at life, to sin along the lark and
wren.

On planet Earth we knew not how to die.
Or how to let sleeping dogs on graves lie.
Our premier hours in denial spent
to everlasting denial wouldn’t relent,

as we ricocheted from hole to hole. The last
to mark the gravest hours of our past.
But that was long ago.
Our dead are dead.
We mourn them out of habit. They led

their lives of quiet desperation. We tried
to slip the bonds of history
but were left
with hystrionic spectacle
that was neither uplifting
nor delectable.

Now, our eyes are peeled for every image
upon image, and icon over balking
icon eyes
cannot hope to unsee.
My grave lies hid
beyond the line
unknown.

Forget me not
as angels parade my corpse
and feast from
Famine,
drink from Plague,
and warp its wraps.
Deny Death.
Wage war on War.
See the world,
shrink not,
shirk not your labour.