A voice from beyond

Excavate me from this cast-iron casket
I am not ready for this tomb
Equip me with the tools of everyday life
I should not have left that room

So many things I must tell everyone
An abundance of awkward advice
My newly assigned duty as a son
Showing mentors how to roll the dice

The path has choices, to all who think
Ones who live and breathe
Many will flatter with a patronising wink
But the close ones will never deceive

Always project an image of strength
Never show the enemy you are weak
For his oppression lasts a laborious length
Your decrepit, destruction he will seek

Be weary of the one who likes to stare
One who craves confrontation
Indifferent eyes are the ones that care
The former evokes frustration

Get as much joy out of people as you can
Never let them believe you’re glum
Create a fun-filled flurry of a plan
And all of life’s riches will come

Lay off all the mushrooms and poppers
They merely shrink your brain
Keep on the safe side of those rotten coppers
Or cell bars will shelter you from the rain

Listen to your elders words of warning
Show a measured degree of respect
Prepare a bi-monthly banquet at sun’s dawning
Your longing they seldom detect

Reject all your inherent religious ideas
They simply hold no grounds in proof
Relinquish the induction of hopes and fears
Science bares all truth

Exhume spontaneity on all accounts
Any means granted it would seem
Though mediocrity must be awarded its fair amount
In the recurring, regularity of this dream

Now I’m conscious that this perpetual preaching
Will tryingly trudge out of your mind
But one doesn’t care who it’s reaching
Not meaning to sound unkind

Though I must divulge my internal confession
From the dank and decadent abyss
This ranting was no deliberate concession
Your outcome I could frankly miss

Cos I’m the one who remains down here
Cocooned in a claustrophobic case
Why come to aid the ones who cheer?!
I must pry free with haste!

The coffin’s ceiling begins to crack
Scurrying from bloody hands of autumn
I’m drowning in earth soil from front to back
Suffocation would be the real post mortem

Officially now a posthumous entity
One was not content with his lot
I care not for synthetic sympathy
A dilapidated dungeon, is all I got.