Zombie Poetry: No 1 – Zombie Dreams

Zombie Dreams

Perchance, for which, might a Zombie sleep?
The sky darkens above the Zombie’s head, too.
Perhaps it always a sunset on the hopes of the Zombie,
Dragging around his foot, perhaps trying to place his eyeball back into its socket,
If his eyeball is even salvageable.

Is it eternal darkness, is it always night,
is it the Dark Side of the Zombie moon at all times, Man?
Well, I don’t know.
Do you?

Have you seen the Zombie sleep?
Better question: have you seen the Zombie dream, Man?
Have you seen that glazed look in his eye, as he looks up at a tree and sees a squirrel?

Or, per chance, on a particularly beautiful dewey morning,
Do you see the Zombie contemplate his own reflection in the waters,
The gentle twinkle of those millions of dewey diamonds,
Does a Zombie dream!

Can a Zombie feel emotions?
Or do you even care?
Oh yeah, it’s easy to rag on the Zombie, easy to throw garbage on that which already lives in muck,
It’s easy to just point and say, “Run away, he’s going to eat you!”

But if you look close, if you split the hairs,
Crack open the skull, dig through his brain matter,
I think you’ll be surprised at what you find.

Well, you’ll see rotting brains,
But you’ll also see the seedling of a beautiful, marvelous, tall tree,
A tree that could grow so high, reach to the sky, sky high,
And bear unimaginable, wonderful fruits.

Can a Zombie create art? Can a Zombie sculpt?
If Michelangelo had been bitten by a zombie,
Do you think the Sistine Chapel would still be as marvelous and beautiful as it is today?

Can a Zombie dream?
And if he can dream, of what does he dream?
Well, he probably just dreams about brains.

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