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withdrawn personalities,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?
(MSM)
