Irregular The Shape

-Irregular The Shape-
by
Keaton Foster



Irregular the shape
Six by eight
Twenty four nails
Hammered true
Crafted by one man
Filled with another
Death has come to roost
A soul has escaped
The body has begun to rot
The stench is contained
Unaware are the patrons
Those who have come
Paying their respects
Quite mundane
In life they didn’t care
But in death somehow
They found a way to care
Just enough to show up
Etiquette, what a bitch
And the living
Those that are to remain
Know it all too well
The deadest of man
Would feel sorry for them
If he had ever been capable
Of such a hypocrital concept
He was incapable most of all
There is a man in black
Stained white
He is speaking the word of God
Some sort of a parting passage
Filled with nonsensical madness
Meant to frighten those alive
And condemned those dead
There is and has never been
An in between
It has always been
Either caution or extreme
To live is of course to die
Maybe that is profound
Then again, maybe mundane
No matter, the result is the same
On the edge the man in the box
Often found himself standing
The softest of touch
No doubt would have been
All that would be required
A bullet to the brain
A rope around the neck
A deep sliced to the vein
The excessive means of an end
Insignificant to those present
In sadness they lament
The man in the box
The rotting corpse
Is incapable of any more feelings
Little has changed between
His life and the grave
What a terrible shame
Irregular the shape
Six by eight
Twenty four nails
Hammered true
Crafted by one man
Filled with another…




Irregular The Shape
Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2013