The Undead Waltz
Because why should the living have all the fun
Forgotten souls come out to play
On a frozen, sunless morn.
Naught but rotting flesh are they;
A mockery of those not yet born.
They dance to tunes and toasts of death,
And those of us who fear to tread
Across the path of damn’ed breath,
Across the path of living dead,
Will never know the beauty in
The sunken skin, the rotted eyes,
Or hear that gay, unholy din
That celebrates their own demise.
The grass crumples 'neath skeletal feet;
Green no more, it fades to brown.
The dancers beckon those they meet
To share anew the steps and sounds.
An ominous lamp, the pale moon hangs
Over the happy, gruesome scene
Where the dancers ignore their pangs
Recalling sacred lands serene.
Their endless rest deterred,
No flute or lute hangs in the air,
But still the dancing can be heard.
Join them if you dare.
(2005)
