Dearly beloveds, let us speak ill of the dead.
Let us shout that the enemy of my soul
Is the sexually frustrated lover of the damned.
Let us scream that the price of eternal rest
Is not a price we wish to pay,
It is not the glittering of gold,
The sheen of silver,
The putrid smell of power.
It is the void of inaction,
Unless we begin to speak ill of the dead.
We grieve our friends and they grieve our hearts-
Because we choose fond remembrance,
Because we choose pleasantries,
Because distance makes the heart grow fonder and death is the ultimate distance.
So today, let us speak ill of the dead
Let us recall our last breaths and our last heartbeats,
Let us snuggle into Death’s bosom,
Let us proclaim there are no saints and only sinners.
Let us carve into tombstones not names and dates but a reminder:
“Humanis soli ego!”
Let us rage against that dying of the light,
Let us not go gently into the good night,
Let us speak ill of the dead.