Charles J. Ingerson


Called the undertaker
came to claim his own
unmistakable anger
in shrouds of stone.

Demented you are
came angry screams
life will be your scar
in meaningless dreams.

He knew not the fault
found on this day’s play
no way to be taught
or anyway to now pay.

How is it we’re alone
while others quite alive?
Our days only on loan
trying just to survive.

Empty shrouds found
with names on the tag
corpses make no sound
nor today fill any bag.

Yet seen within bowed
vacant eyes feelings lost
spirits which seem cowed
a destroying eternal cost.

Wars come and go along
millions play on the stage
even more sing its song
while others never age.

Their lives not ended
neither are they alive;
hopes of love demented
where only dead survive.

Wait here is yet another
can’t remember his name
surely he must be a brother
looking so much the same.

How forgotten is the tomb
where awaits a formal end
which started in the womb
unknowing to this my friend.