Don’t speak ill of the dead

 Don’t speak ill of the dead

Don’t speak ill of the dead they say

They are now spirit

Unbound by the rules of time or space

They will hear your speech before you say it

And clog the water in your pipes

Which any way is the ill you speak of

Or they may remove the bumps on your way

And lead the angels to hail you

As if the ill they wrought is now buried with the flesh

They didn’t crave their friends wife

Or collect the poor farmers seeds

That was their living actions

Now they are dead, they can do no evil

They can neither seize nor maul

Neither lie nor say the truth

So speak no ill of the dead

They are dead

The ills they wrought are now buried with the flesh

Nailed down shut in their coffins

Left alone with them in the stone vault

Arguing with the worms and the heat

The enzymes that disregard their robes

And return them and their ills to the earth

That speaks neither ill nor praise

Of the dead or of the living.

The earth just witnesses.