Moon at Half Past Noon

The piano moans and rings
For they force it to sing
Songs of mourning
When it longs for love and the living

The congregation sleeps
The bishop shuffles and peeps
Adjusting glasses over lifeless eyes,
when Angela creeps
Like a ghost of the dead and living
As the piano moans and rings

‘The worshipers of dead’
Her wail of a plea
Tears through the mock sobriety of the willing
As the piano moans and sings

The living are more dead
Then the dead themselves
Her laughter shakes the leaves
Of empty souls
The harp begins to play
a happy melody on glee strings
As the piano moans and sings

‘You should be ashamed of yourselves’
Her psalm for the zombies begins
As the piano moans and sings

She dances in a trance
Through a procession of pretences
‘Let us celebrate the ocean’
Aghast, the suicidees, spring
As the piano moans and sings

‘Look we are as alive as
the children’s laugh’
The sprightly imprints
of delicate footsteps
wiped away by a lively surf.