The dead man sits in the small room
without sustenance or light.
There are no books or windows.
He cannot speak, yet even if he could,
there is no one with whom to do so.

The only things he has been given are his memories,
Strong, vivid.
The only time he leaves this place
is when his soul enters another's body
at the height of their fear and agony.
He leaves again at the moment of their peaceful death,
Returns back here to relive what suffering has just occurred.
So many instances:
A black man lynched in Alabama,
An old Vietnamese woman torched alive in a hut,
A blind, one legged, starving Kabul child stepping on a land mine,
A Detroit three-year-old gunned down by cross-fire
while playing in the front yard,
A small, terrified terrier
being used for bait in a dog fight,
A 911 plane passenger,
Syria.

The karmic wheel spins for him.
It never slows, just ticks off each offense,
It holds no grudge, just reflects what is due to him.
It's scary how relentless and unforgiving
this wheel is to this man.
Wherever there is evil,
he has no power over it.
It controls him as he relives the horrors of others,
even beyond madness.
It's happening again.
He knows it's time,
The voice calls to him,
“Adolph, come.”

By Linda Imbler

Website: http://lindaspoetryblog.blogspot.com