Art of Demise

I’ve seen two dead bodies of two dead children,
a little girl and her older brother,
together slumped against the beach sand,
where the ocean and sand borders rest.
Their paranoid and overworked mother put them to death,
who actually thought they were planning her downfall,
and drowned them to their end.
Their skin was colorless and dull, even a little purple along with it, too.
Their eyes were open, glassy and reflecting the figures above their bodies,
mouths open in an “O” shape as they tried one last time to get a single breath,
and their hands were intertwined for the very last time.1

And in my eyes, they were wonderful,
even though they were dead,
because they stuck together through their final day.
And still, tonight, I hope Saint Peter treats them like the father they never had.2

I’ve seen two dead bodies of two dead lovers,
together on a bed, where they we’re taking a rest.
The lovers were stabbed and bled to their death
by a madman who was just trying to pay the rent.
Their limbs were tangled together, glistening
pale skin hidden under pools of ruby liquid.
Their eyes gleamed dully inside their heads,
necks twisted to where they turned to where
they could only see each other, the last thing
they would ever see forever.3

And in my eyes, they were beautiful,
even though they were dead,
because they are always together,
we’re we go when we’ve left.
And tonight, I hope Saint Peter greets them like old friends.4

I’ve seen two dead bodies of an elderly couple,
on a park bench, where they sat to close their eyes and relax.
A young man choked them, knowing they wanted to die peacefully anyway.
When they both died, the young man, drowned by the guilt of this crime, committed suicide,
leaving his own lover alone in her horrible life.
Their eyes were closed and their heads slumped against each other’s;
two hands interlaced, and in the husband’s free hand,
he held a wilting little flower he was going to use as a surprise.
Maybe he would give it her when they reached Heaven, hand in hand.5

And in my heart, I knew they were perfect,
even though they were dead,
because loved each till death.
And tonight, I hope Saint Peter throws a party for them,
celebrating their wonderful, lasting marriage.6

I’ve seen the dead body of a dead girl,
hanging from the rafters of her dead lover’s residence.
She was a beautiful one, with black hair down below her neck,
pale, full lips pulled down at the ends,
a pale, dull skin with a purple neck.
and a black dress,
which she wore at her lover’s interment.
She made promise to her man,
that if one of them died before their time,
the other would join them on the road to the dreamland.
This girl was always known to keep her promises.7

Too bad it was I hanging from the rafters, in the end.8


[But in his eyes, we are all friends of Saint Peter.]