The cemeteries are filled
with lives unlived
the stones with carvings forgotten
The vessels lay
in boxes decayed
in garments thoroughly rotten
If God would grant the corpse
one wish
what do you think it would be?
To rise on bony elbows
and gaze
on flowers and beauty unseen?
Or would it be
to return one day
to that moment sin first conceived
the lie, the look,
the deceitful grin
so that it might be retrieved?
The scales that block
the beauty of life
often are never shed
They rest on eyes
that never see
the blindness of the living dead
© 2010 Don Odom
DYSTENIUM LLC 