A TOMB WITH A VIEW
See the imperfect Minister who perfectly administers the funeral arrangements of the fallen felons. He wears the black cloth of a burial pall. Undertaking the responsibility of taking these walking dead under and out of sight. Wielding the hammer that has driven nails into countless coffins.
“ALL RISE”, as he lowers his expectation of rehabilitation, reformation and reconciliation. It smells of impossibility and Papal Bull to him. So he leads Arched Bishops to lean over and above Arch Angels. Truths be damned.
He directs Clerical Coroners to contrive public autopsies, dissecting lives and leaving people in pieces. The tops of skulls are removed so the spectators can speculate on the vastness of each void. Baseball stitches on chest and bellies testify of the groping hands and slicing scalpels that sift the viscera looking for visible signs of decay, decline and decomposition. Hearts are cut out and weighed on their scales, always to be found wanting.
After being sentenced to coffin sized storage units, the showroom model that pacified the public is removed. The polished, pillowed resting places are replaced with long cardboard boxes, something cheap and easy to burn. The EZ bake ovens blaze and we are charred to ash and bone. That makes it easier for the clever clergy to send our souls, unfettered and unencumbered to a hell of the States making.
No urn for people to pass, polished in remembrance. Just a clear zip lock bag filled with the powdered past of a person. A Tomb with a view. We can see the world pass us by without consideration or concern. Shelved with a variety of expiration dates. Just add water and stir for instant recidivism, instant scapegoat, instant insanity.
A friend of mine, his classification officers had no class as they pass opportunities and responsibilities from one to another. Years afforded for finding the right place for each case. Then the time is gone, there’s no home and no hope of help promised. Just 50$ and a bus ticket to failure. They didn’t like that man or his charges so they treated him like a friendly ghost. Never haunted by their own apathetic attitudes, secretly withholding help. However , hoping he would fall again. Not for re-offending, but for a technical glitch created accidentally on purpose.
All the while knowing there will never be enough Saints to pray these souls out of a purgatory of the States creation. No mass of paid mourners to say Mass for the masses incarcerated. Justice is just not in the budget, just us left forgotten in this endless limbo. Existing in this everlasting loop of lunacy. Based on a Dante’s Divine Comedy, which is anything but Godly or Funny. Never changing yet never consistent, except for the fallen who angle to torture the already tortured souls.
See the imperfect Minister who perfectly administers the funeral arrangements of the fallen felons. He wears the black cloth of a burial pall, not the white robes of the High Priest. That makes it easier to hide the smut of the BONEFIRE, bonfires that celebrate our continued consumption.
(Footnote: I’ve seen firsthand autopsied remains, and temporary, fancy coffins that make the public feel better. I’ve seen what those remains are placed in to be burned. It looks similar to the show that is put on for public consumption regarding incarceration and reentry of prisoners to society.)