The Corpse
Death has left him long ago.
Took what pitiful shreds there were to take.
Now the dismaying remains leave a hideous odeur;
the stench of rotting flesh.
The hair, in which he took such pride, is greased
with the fluids of his brain.
His highly valued clothes are tattered and stained
with the drying blood from his infected wounds
in which flies lay their eggs and maggots crawl.
Fat pale worms wiggle in his unseeing eyelids.
His recently healthily brown skin
which has blackened and become crumbling parchment
is falling off in flakes to reveal the insects beneath it,
fighting to turn him into the dirt he came from
and never really left.
A sudden rumble and a flash of lightning fill the sky.
Big raindrops leave the clouds
to slap the Corpse with their full weight,
taking moist pieces of dissolving meat with them.
The Thunder gives a sound
as if Heaven was roaring with laughter
until tears of plain joyous satisfaction roll down her cheeks.
A sheer happiness over the way rightful Vengeance
had torn his body to shreds
because of his sins towards her.
He got what he deserved.
