The oak coffin sat upon its plinth
as the weeping mourners looked on.
As the priest droned on with his
incomprehensible babble.

Babbling his platitudes which
most here could not understand.
As angels looked on
with fearful shaking heads.

The body lay still and silent as the
hymns were sung. Perhaps
disagreeing with their choice.

Even as dark clouds gathered overhead
the mourners sang their hearts out.
Screeching to heaven, unaware,
that the Almighty was not listening.
 
Could not be listening for
this fallen soul.
The mourners sat in prayer now
as a distant rumble grew ever closer.

Even as the prayer droned on regardless,
the rumble ripped through that ancient church.
Chairs shook the mourners out of
their lethargy as the plinth shook violently.

As the box of dread crashed to the floor, and
the women screamed in terror.
The corpse was seen to rise as the
priest abandoned his God and the weeping.

The putrid face of hate snarled, and the
oozing mouth spat the accusation.
To an empty church, an empty room,
an empty world.

The church has been pulled down now.
Never to know what the corpse had said.
Never to know the bleeding hearts
that had fled in terror.

Upon the site stands a garden of
flowers that never seem to last.
Perhaps the very ground is
cursed now.

Perhaps shunned by the Almighty,
who watched the corpse rise and
make the accusation.
And did nothing!