Here He Lies Poem by Nero CaroZiv

Pluck the cloak from his face, shake, jolt him from eternal sleep, he that lies in his resting place
Observe the corpse that left behind life without delight, lacking any dignity or grace
How he lies here before his last journey in his rights of a father or of any shape of man
Death is the end; death has done to us all, all death can.
Regard now the ceased being, the nothing, and absorbed in the pathetic life he lead,
Has he ever wrecked of other needs; has he ever taken from others any heed

How vast and numerous his wrongs, compelled my child vengeance; both strike
When one evil breeds another; a monster mocks a monster in human senses alike,
Feeling of guilt, and rage are lost and ware out in the time of years of solemn and confusion strange
He, who would never evolve; he who would never endorse the wishful awaiting of change.
Ha, what avails now death to erase
His offence; his manipulations fountained from distorted character? my misery? , my anguish? or my disgrace?

I would we were a clan as the Bible days of virtue; the value and patina of endurance old
A child runs covered to the knee high with spring flowers of the field, happy and bold:
Like a thunder on a bright day his outrage, his vain tantrum God's patience, man's scorn
Were so easily erupted so spontaneously borne!
He who would never express regret, sorrow or sympathy for others, glee? or pain?
No such game, around him humans wait for any expression of kindness like desert soil to the rain

I will not be there the moment he will be put down to the pit. Was there love in the passionate shriek
Love for the silent thing wrapped in shroud that made no false, no too soon hast to his grave
Covered with a cloak, as I see him and think for a moment that he would rise and ditch his last speak
And rant and rave at the world habits and at God's vanity as he always did rave
As helpless, as meaningless thing beneath the white shroud
He lies terminally in rest, in calm as if his deeds in life resonate innocence, goodness without a doubt

I see the brittle skinned hands tightly intertwined
Pale palm against pale palm is motionless laid
Bereft of any living movement they consigned
What the frozen lips left unsaid
End to the torturous words and sharp arrowed sentences, savagery jolt of world mockery bliss
The creature is dead; harmless like a tattered rug, never human ears to hear his vile hiss

I stand here now, un graced, he lies doomed in his place:
Pull back the cloak! Cover the face!


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