Dry Heat
Drink our words ...
The Online Literary Magazine of Paradise Valley Community College
Laura Lisianthus
The Dead Do Not Speak
The blood leaks across the floor
Cops poke, search, question more
All said it was the neighbour
A victim to five pounds flour
No one thinks to check the store
No one gathers, checks, the lore
The purpose to settle a score
Then its found, there’re four
More panic sinks into their core
These’re worse, nothing but gore
An entire family; immense war
A weapon! One very bloody oar
Another check, it’s not the boar
Grind out the clues, what a bore
They go open yet another door
Many scream a frustrated roar
Bodies, carcass, this they abhor
Nothing to be done, it’s a chore
The house cleaned of all yore
Autopsy done; they find spore
Poison they say but what a snore
No, no, it can not be so anymore
One last askance of its whore
Chased them off, told explore
They change tactics, ask why for
The answer comes, one they adore
It’s the neighbors, in uproar
He is found upon a long shore
Ask upon his reasons, seems poor
A shrug; ravens speak nevermore!