Undead Poets Society

day’s vivid light, fading soon
sea of clouds, a wading moon
the clock, it ticks
the clock, it tocks

a cloud of spirits at night ferry’s dock
to see the land off cemetery’s block
hands clasping tickets
hands clasped in pockets

a silent crowd that craves mankind
leaving the mossy graves behind
visit those alive
but stand aloof

we wayfare to bedrooms on slow air streams
and come to see their mediocre dreams
then twist it here
and bend it more

hopes and fears, a marinade
stop it! hear our serenade
listen to the tunes
feel it in your bones

when we find a soul so dull, so ashen
we tune its receiver to Radio Passion
then relax your mind
and listen, my friend

early death has withheld untold capers
we lend your hand to unfold papers
receive the bold rhymes
conceived in old homes

spirit bards stand at your side, dressed in cotton twill
squeezing out midnight heat from their forgotten quill
taking your notes
filling your sheets

     I’m captured in your hex
     oh, your shapes so convex
     full of intent to tease and vex
     hidden beneath the shiny latex
     let me clamber up passion’s apex
     boiling fluids in my inner complex
     you make my nous and limbs flex
     to reach out for your soft vertex
     create Kamasutra’s new annex
     inspired by our stea...

Once more, so close! Now, what the heck?
The call of the graves draws us back
again, no poem to submit
but one night, we will succeed