When words fail.

This is when we die.

When we die, we dance beneath the soil.
We build cities, sixty stories under six feet
And have tea with dead pets and dinosaurs.
Our bodies cramp coffins while our heads and our hands dream.
This is the afterlife. This is the death
Where people play party games
And drink until their bones are dank.
This is the death
Where proper is a pre mortem mystique
This is the death.
And we are the devotees
The polygamists, the poets
The lovers of lovers of lover of words.
So we speak as the world unravels above us.
And our blocks and our corners and our street signs decay.
And our seats and our tea run dry.
And our words and our lips run dry
When we dance beneath the soil.
When we die.

Reviews

[foolsrush]

Wow.

[raining]

good irony, and this is as good as any poem gets...

[Brjden (Bridge-Den) Cre..]

Very interesting write! Very creative, humorous, and thought-provoking! I enjoyed this very much.

"This is the death.
And we are the devotees
The polygamists, the poets
The lovers of lovers of lover of words.
So we speak as the world unravels above us"

Great pen.....