Donation Support Button

Sunday, December 2, 2012


The living dead walk among the living;

Their eyes are light sensitive,

Their mouths are ready to open,

Their minds are surprising sharp,

Their limbs are quite fluid!


They talk as though they once lived productive lives;

Their thoughts sometimes trail off uncompleted,

Their memories are faded wispy dreams,

Their voices mimic distance caws,

Their tongues are dry as toast crust!


They feast upon knowledge obscure;

Their study halls resemble dank morgues,

The books they read embrace dark religion,

They are dead words talking,

They recite languages not known by common man.


They are actually a pitiful sight;

With withdrawn personalities,

With icy cold staring eyes,

With unclean skin and hair,

They are walking undead and do not care!

The man of life and zeal is repulsed;

By the sight of the pail skin,

By the absence of the light of life,

By the deadness inside black hole eyes,

By the putrid smell of the absence of a soul.

And finally, in the end,

Before they all actually fade into the metaphysical…

The undead may try to take many of the living with them.

The method often involves violent blood letting.

What do they do with all that blood spilled from human bodies?


Mortals -- young and old, men and women --

Just like the sulking, hidden, stalking undead

Are all doomed to be eventually consumed by the sun!

But in the main time, they all exist on the same reality plane…

Begging the question: Can the living be friends with the undead?


No comments:

Post a Comment