A Deluge for the Dead and the Dying (Original Poem)
2025-05-05T14:15:00
A friend came to me last night in a lucid dream,
dead eight years, sly and whispering.
He said – “Drink in the truth, don’t deny
a place for the dead and the dying.
Open the doors and let them in,
as there are plenty who need refuge,
a deluge that needs a course to run
for all the dead and the dying.”
I bowed my head and he croaked
and laughed “You always were a sycophant.
Take a stand, voice a cry, open up those lidded eyes,
the dead and dying are wandering in your mind.”
A girl unfurls her mother’s shawl.
Deadwood skin, eyes glisten in stale
sockets. A welt of crimson calico
bile, from shrapnel that’s burnt a smile
across her face. Empty veins
dapple her arm as her daughter spills
tears, that fill the gorges that run in
a deluge for the dead and the dying.
Bloated fish crisp in the midday sun,
on beaches of moldering trash.
Drunken reeling trees crash
in the wake of flood-born quakes.
Rivers Spill carcasses of shanty huts
into the guts of the sea, while we watch
the daily news - peruse our broadsheets
commenting on the dead and the dying.
I stagger each day from my bed, my head a
cacophony - a wind-blown sigh. Angry, resigned,
blind; I emerge from that dream.
A subconscious scream echoes my day
in the morning's soft bloat of waking
through to the evening refrain, I just
can’t escape. Voices follow me crying –
“who will speak up for the dead and the dying”.
All images used are CC license, please follow links to verify: [Image 1,](
/pixabay.com/photos/man-pollution-garbage-trash-travel-7902570/) [& Image 4](https://pixabay.com/photos/people-businessman-hand-wrist-2566430/)
If you have enjoyed this poem, you can check out my homepage [@raj808](https://peakd.com/@raj808) for similar content.

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