Progressive Funeral Service

 I have been in the shadow of the valley of death.
I have lain with the dead and dying.
I have caught the stench of rot with every breath,
I can’t get out, but still I’m trying

I step in blood, I have before.
There’s a stream of it,
it doesn’t matter anymore.
I once tried to drink it,
but it leaked out of my pores

I try to talk to one of them,
these demons of flesh,
there souls, condemned.
His words are not fresh,
he tells me with a throat of flem:

I am in the shadow of the valley of death.
I lie with the dead and dying.
I catch the stench of rot with every breath,
there’s no way out, I’m no longer trying.

I move on with a hastened pace.
My tears consist of blood.
I know that they can see my face,
and like a rapid rushing flood,
my heart begins to race.

I walk on and on,
between the darkened rock,
trudging through this hell spawn,
the carcasses passing in flocks,
they moan and groan,
but still I walk.
Until I am startled by and unsettling image,
on a hospital bed, a boy lays possessed,
there’s something sinister about him,
evil and nefarious,
his eyes are black as slate,
inside is of him is purely hate.
It’s quite evident,
his malevolence is innate.
The priest tries to calm him as he begins to shake,
lord forgive his soul the priest prays,
but it’s inevitable, it’s far too late.
The child whispers his own fate,
too quietly to hear
his words do nothing but evaporate.
But now he has all ears,
the child says it loudly now,
his sentences like spears.
This is what he says to them,
laughing through his tears:

I will be in the shadow of the valley of death.
I will lay with the dead and dying.
I will catch the stench of rot with every breath,
I will never leave, but I’ll keep trying