A Death On A Sunday Poem by Richard John

He had stared intentionally
And with intent into the eyes of
His Father who returned the sentiments
With a taciturn, almost deathly gaze.

He had compelled his face to turn
Yet feeling like death himself
With a passion, a morbid thirst for burnt flesh,
His eyes picked his Father’s inert visage bare.

He had envisioned the day when death
Was to come for his father’s stolen soul
One like this with those many frauds and cons
In queue behind him anxious to witness the ‘glorious’ dead.

He had hoped to have death salvage them instead
And his Father would return to a weeping son
Leaping into his arms to renounce all dismay
And to put in reverse, this Death on a Sunday.