Valhalla Ballads

Down amongst the tombstones, where dead and rotting lie,
Where stone angels carry urns that are desiccated, dry,
Amongst the poison ivy and the darkling Cyprus trees,
A white moth does a fire dance with black pall-bearer bees.

And in the mausoleum, black beetles take the tune,
Feeding on the jerky-flesh in April, May and June.
Oh, feed us, humans, feed our limbs, our hearts, our heads, our eyes,
Feed us, cry the maggot babes against the sunset skies.

Oh build your grand Valhalla, your cenotaphs of stone,
Inter your bleached and rotting bones, we will not sigh or moan,
Instead we'll play the violin, the viola, the cello,
And dine on you by candle light that’s warm and pink and mellow.

Eaten By Worms

A poem about the fate awaiting those of us who chose to have our mortal remains interred. Being eaten by worms is just the half of it.


Funny Poems about Death


Max Scratchmann

Copyright © Max Scratchmann. All Rights Reserved