Robbing the Dead

A harvest moon shines over the streets
As I complete my grisly work,
Walking to and fro among the dead
That are naught but shadows in the growing murk.

I lean down and retrieve a ring
Or tug free a gold-studded tooth.
This watch is ticking while his heart lies still,
And its golden face seems the only truth.

His hair is tumbled over his brow,
And his eyes are forever closed.
His clothes mark him as peasantry
From tunic to blood-stained hose.

Was it worth it all? I wonder,
Cleaning up the blood
That flows, drying, down the gutters,
Mingling with the mud.

They wanted a revolution,
But all I see are the dead.
Royal and common blood look the same,
It’s all the same dark red.

He won’t need this bauble anymore
Since he’s going down to Hell.
His eyes stare at me, frozen in surprise
And I wonder what secrets he could tell.

What horrors could the dead impart to me
As I complete my ghastly rounds?
I walk away, my pockets bulging now,
The tapping of my boots is the only sound.