The Dead Poem by Anthony Liccione

When the dead come
they will come marching
in a black parade,
they will come riding
on the peace train,
not minding of
being the last caboose
in line.
They will glance
at a watch that doesn't
tick,
hands that don't move
or reach to exist.

They will watch
the living dead in deed,
they will watch
the living dead indeed.
And when at a time
they know not,

they will come
and take the deaf
away from us,
by hand they will
lead away the blind,
crippled and
handicapped
and we will be left
thoughtlessly,
with the dead
burying the dead.