WHAT NEED FOR PITY Linda Imbler

There’s no remnant of life

where we linger,

we who feel bitter cold

and enjoy it.

We started as an anxious crew,

the meek buried with the arrogant,

doubtful in the grave,

superstitious about bones.

But over time,

our troubles decayed along with us.

There’s things here familiar to us all,

and we share an indifference about death,

inside the sepulchers,

below the monuments.

We dread those who strive

to console all who have died,

attempting bizarre ceremonies

to send us back.

Here, there are no wretched prisoners

afflicted with melancholy.

We meet new friends with joy,

so, what need for pity?