Dead People In My Car
The Spirits of the Dead,
Talk to me,
Through my car radio.
Every morning,
On my way to work,
And every night,
On my way home,
I hear their voices,
Reporting from the afterlife.
The Young Dead*
*those dead less than 30 years
Are morose,
Mournful,
Filled with regrets,
Bemoaning their sins,
And the endless eternity,
Stretching out before them.
They are dead,
yet don’t know how to act dead.
The Middle Dead*
*those dead between 30 and 100 years (approximately)
Are a curious bunch,
Comparing the living world,
To the Afterlife,
Attempting to sort out each world’s,
Oddities,
Minutia,
And similarities.
They like talking to others of the dead,
As they try to remember hunger,
And what it was like to sleep.
The Old Dead*
*those dead 100 years and beyond,
Don’t talk much.
They don’t feel the need to,
Their time in the afterlife,
Free from physical pains,
And mental decline,
And social burdens,
They watch the machinations of the living.
The private lives of kings,
And the rise and fall of empires,
The deaths of old prejudices,
And the birth of new ones.
And they understand,
Infinity.
They see the abyss,
Good and Evil,
And know the cosmos,
As only a God can.
When they do speak,
It is only to impart wisdom,
Of peace,
And humility,
Before the vastness,
Of Time,
Space,
And Death.
Which is great and all,
But I just wanted to listen to the traffic report.
