The following is a poem about body snatching, the dark and nefarious practice of stealing corpses from their graves. Written on the 28th January 2017.
Silence, shadows and secrets grim,
Sneaking, creeping in bleakness dim.
Disinterring from rest those blessed six feet deep,
The sleepers so peaceful in their oblong keeps.
Stealing fresh bones as granite angels weep,
From consecrated ground a spade does reap.
Liberating from yards and sleepy burial sites,
Harvesting corpses on overcast nights.
Exhuming from plots beneath cover so black,
Shovelling grime till yielding coffin lids crack.
Prowling dank pits in cloak and cowl,
Excavating the grit with lantern and trowel.
Heeding no howl from owl or growl of ghoul,
Liberating from splinters their decaying jewel.
No moonbeam protection, no justice this night,
No stopping the resurrection; his devilish delight.
With a crack of thunder, and downpour sustained,
A funereal dress removed to the haunting refrain,
Of a thousand bemused demons, icy droplets of rain.
Dissection, grim study, lectures, display,
Sold as a product, on a table to lay.
And the people will cry when the morn does rise,
And her family discovers there she no longer lies.
Her bosom of earth, upturned and vandalised,
She is but a possession now taken,
The resurrection man’s prize.