The Dead Ringer

June 4, 2011 § 3 Comments

Feet buried beneath earth – cemented.
Losing precious blood – heart shaped.
Wailing against the calloused skin walls.
Nails cracked from the scratching.
Bring us up.

Bodies rigid below the moon.
Sacred idols fallen.
Tears, gasps, hope – dry.
We know you’re listening.
Bring us up.

Numbness now below the earth.
The core devoid of warmth.
Chills on the nape as
Life is shuddering.
Bring us up.

Seeping souls where flowers bloom.
Airless lungs inside the tomb.
Ringing bell in graveyard shift.
The dead will rise if you are quick.

The shovels search in lanterns shadow
For those condemned too soon.
Bring us up from darkness seething.
Can’t you hear us screaming?
…still…breathing…

There are days still inside.
There are still days without.
Bring us up. Bring us up.
Bring us up.

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§ 3 Responses to The Dead Ringer

  • chrischrisg says:

    Really loved your poem. xxoo

  • poetart says:

    I like this.. it’s like incantation. The repetition, ‘Bring us up..’ is haunting. Nice. 🙂

    • Diana K. Garrett says:

      Thank you poetart. I wrote it on the basis of the etymology of the phrase “dead ringer”. There actually was a person posted to the graveyard shift at night and strings attached to bells were buried with the dead in case one wasn’t quite dead yet. ha.

      Be well.

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