Salty Living Drink
Hush and harken to the stillness,
Do not disturb the spirits
Lying in their stale graves,
Overgrown with vines,
Reading and re-reading their epitaphs
With begrudged faces
Contorted as if they were trying
With difficulty to understand
Why all those lies were
Written for them...
And then sitting on the gravestones
Or lying leisurely on their beloved vines,
They wave those who pass
Exhorting them to accept their fate,
The ultimate calling of the grave,
The ultimate pleasure of sleeping on vines...
Those green, ghostly vines,
Who converse amongst themselves
In low, conspiratorial tones...
They can hear them, almost everytime,
Gossiping about this man's ugly skull
And that man's decaying bones..
But who knows how much longer
Before the next vine is born
And she grows to be a beautiful vine-maiden
Sought after by men of substance,
Who with all the gold in the world
Pursue her...
And, if you are lucky,
She might grow on you,
And be the first to complain about
Your endless snoring, and childish sobbing,
For all of them dead do,
Alternating steadily,
Peaceful sleep peppered with rasping snores,
And near-silent sobs,
Like that of a woman
Rudely robbed of her flower..
Only in the dead of the night
Do they finally rise
To full wakefulness,
To potter about the earth
Seeking water from the living.
And when they are offered none,
They suck on sweats.
Enjoying its most fulfilling taste
And, eager to remain,
They grow new vines,
Just underneath the bed,
And lay down every night for
A salty living drink...
Written October 7th 2016 for Broken Wings' Overgrown With Vines contest
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