All There Is Left

Most all there is to say was said with a final breath. Nerves tense and go haywire I choke the tears at the root to be of comfort but there is nothing I can say. The patriarch is still, at rest. The matriarch cries trembling cries to the gods Still still in his quiet little coffin. Gray vest, hair like ashy remnants. The coffin is subtle, sturdy crafted finely kindly, warm, supportive ready to weather longer than most. The silent mahogany box says more than any of us could. If only the wood had hands to write. If the Bible ring true, this man lay in paradise. He said more than any of us could, solely with his life. There is nothing left to say.