Death Be Taut, Proud

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

Death never can be killed.  If death could think

That, it would be as calm as light, as calm

As darkness.  Death could smell the faithful stink

Of spiritual religions and embalm

Them deathlessly — if death were live.   The faiths

Insist that death will end in rainbow life,

In Pollyanna rainbow life.  Uncounted wraiths

Will never live again.  The constant strife

That killed them leaves them dead, forever dead.

Those animals destroyed by other beasts

Are dead and always will stay dead.   Instead

Of living they are dead despite all priests.

  Uncountable these zillions killed will not

     Be raised.  Death clamps them in its endless knot.