Memories and Visions
The Hearse Driver
I drive the dead
from place to place
in quiet luxury
we converse sometimes
in low voices
about the whys,
about regrets
they keep no secrets
Some are young
others old and tired,
black, white, brown,
paupers or rich
it's all the same
at the end
Now and then
one is a beauty
with a sultry voice
perfect in every way
except she's dead
and cold
but no less bold
Those are the hardest
life wants to cling to them
and they expect more...
some special deference
or admiration
for soft dead skin,
eyes grown dull,
red lips drawn back
those are the hardest
and the nights
when they still want to talk
not yet ready to go
unsure about eternity
10/30/15
Copyright 2015, John W Flournoy. All rights reserved.
This was another quick poem-a-day write for British National Poetry Month.
Was the night before Halloween, so dark thoughts...
from place to place
in quiet luxury
we converse sometimes
in low voices
about the whys,
about regrets
they keep no secrets
Some are young
others old and tired,
black, white, brown,
paupers or rich
it's all the same
at the end
Now and then
one is a beauty
with a sultry voice
perfect in every way
except she's dead
and cold
but no less bold
Those are the hardest
life wants to cling to them
and they expect more...
some special deference
or admiration
for soft dead skin,
eyes grown dull,
red lips drawn back
those are the hardest
and the nights
when they still want to talk
not yet ready to go
unsure about eternity
10/30/15
Copyright 2015, John W Flournoy. All rights reserved.
This was another quick poem-a-day write for British National Poetry Month.
Was the night before Halloween, so dark thoughts...
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The Hearse Driver
The Hearse Driver