Disposable Gravekeepers

Speaking the gospel of a Son of a Gun
Speaking in mysteries, leaving no clues
A disposable goddess speaking in tongues
Tells us we are next week's bad news
Disposable child reflects in a blade
Tossed on the heap of tomorrow's refuse
Where players are played and prayers are prayed
There's blood on the altar
But they won't tell you whose

Disposable goddess displays the fresh dead
From the mountain wherein she resides
Bones crumble and crunch underfoot where she treads
To the weddings of disposable brides
Disposable skeletons display such wide grins
It was fun while it lasted, they say
Brittle and broken and bony and thin
We all got it coming one day

Push aside the weeds growing up all around you
Rattle those graves
Rattle those stones
Set a flame to the shadows hanging on all around you
Rattle those caskets
Rattle those bones

Disposable goddesses all lose their tongues
They cleave to the roofs of their mouths
Give way to successive disposable ones
To worship as they devour your house
On the roadsides, in boneyards and pawnshops
The ones once so sparkling and bright
Are faded and ragged, prophesying no more
Eternal flames burning out in the night

The disposable god speaks with a smirk
Of the goddesses he has erased
Disposable victims, all play and no work
Disposable children abandoned to waste
So come down ye now from that mountain
Where they sip of the blood of the martyrs
In goblets from an elegant fountain
Disposable nobodies' names on the markers

Push aside the weeds growing up all around you
Rattle those graves
Rattle those stones
Set a flame to those shadows hanging on all around you
Rattle those caskets
Rattle those bones

 © John Kennan 6-28-19