Phantasms' Holy Keep Poem by Howard Kern

Have you ever seen a hearse go by?
Thinking you’re the next to die,
After the corner completes, his horrible deed,
Make sure of your mortician, some are creeps…

The mortician creeps lay you with phantasms,
The ones you hear, yet neither of you speak,
They warn you of the creep, and it’s too late to speak…

He has you on his table, and starts his deception and cheat,
He superglues your eyes and mouth, after pulling the gold teeth,
He keeps you cold, and a plug is put, in the place you stink…

With phony empathy, asking families, for the departed’s Sunday best,
He puts you in a suit, throwing socks in a drawer, and shoes in a bin,
He leaves you in a freezer, till a last meeting, with family and friends…

You arrive at the graveyard, where your plot has already been dug,
Friends and family are crying, as the coffin is lowered six feet down,
The Holy eulogy was pure, ending in a prayer for your soul…

Everyone has left, and the creep, is dawning a depreciatory grin,
It was close to dark, and there was still no dirt atop your head,
He raised the coffin, from hollowed ground, to hear phantasms again…

The greed of this creep, is ruthless to the dead,
Back on his table, your clothes are removed, and jewelry in a sock,
Colthes are sent to the cleaners, and hug in his second hand shop…

As for your body, the dead never speak,
But,
Phantasms scream for a Holy keep…


This is to speak for those souls that have been excavated from their holy keeps. By unholy mortician freaks’ that sees dollar signs from the dead, and to them, the dead are just a piece of bad meat. To them, I say, hell is coming for you! Just wait till you hear phantasms’ screaming in your head.
In Texas, we respect the dead! ! !