Poetry Everyday of the Year (and more)

The rules are simple. 1) Send me a poem and if I approve it (most likely) I will print it. I will also print my poems (which are copyrighted.) 2) If I print your poem you will retain all rights to the poem. I will also delete your poem if you sell it to a publisher who wants exclusive rights. 3) If I print your poem, I will send you an email telling you what day. (So you can tell everyone). This is a poet friendly site. (enjoy)

Friday, April 15, 2011

The Evil Dead

There is something inherently evil about the dead.
The way they cast their boney hands in the air and roll in their graves, their eyes gone dark the way they turn on you, and leave without a thought (about you and living and the world in general.)
There is evil in their decay, rotting to the core, as they point out their indifference to your fate, asking only if you put flowers on their grave. (They do not bother you with advice about what stock to buy, or numbers to populate that million dollar lotto try.) Selfish to the finish - There is evil in their smiles where they lay contented in places beyond our ears, laughing at the joke we present on a daily basis. Rather they are concerned with the inane:
Is my car still shiny, does the dog miss me?
These sinister questions that they ask.
It is as if they have left for another place Say Florida, somewhere you can't go, not yet anyway, forgot about the bills, and the house, they don't call and they don't care to either.
Because there is evil in their bones through and through
And no amount of crying will make it go away

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