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Best Funeral Poems

Below are the all-time best Funeral poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of Funeral poems written by PoetrySoup members

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Don't stop! The most popular and best Funeral poems are below this new poems list.

The Poet's Family at Her Funeral by Ronnow, Robert
Funeral Rites by Lee, Samuel
Funeral home scene by hunjeri, njeri
FUNERAL FOOTLES by ALLISON, JAN
At a funeral by Smith, Bill
Funeral of a Surrealist by Ben, Su
A Funeral by Trainer, John
Polish woman made sure to cancel her own funeral by Andresen, Anne Lise
THE FUNERAL RAM by chizoba vincent, john
My Funeral by A. Sharma, Dr. Upma

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The Best Funeral Poems

Details | Funeral Poem | |

Where The White Rose Blooms

The single white rose captured the old gardener's attention,
He lovingly cared for it, like it was his own grand-daughter,
The roses were just like family and friends in his eyes,
He gave them bright sunshine, and plenty of fresh water.

He had always planted roses in reds, yellows, and pinks,
Yet, it was the one white rose that he favored most,
The old gardener admired it's innocence and elegance,
A quality that the other roses just could not boast.

This precious rose was pure white, like new fallen snow,
Which only a cold, late November day could bring,
It's delicate petals were soft to the finger's touch,
Similar to that of a feather, in an angel's wing.

The old gardener was perplexed and astonished,
Only this rose bloomed through spring, summer, and fall,
Each of the other roses had withered months ago,
The frost and cold weather did not affect it at all.

With a smile, the old gardener took one last look,
Unknowingly, death would soon come without warning,
After he had settled down for a nap in his chair,
He drew his last breath, later on that morning.

His funeral was held on the very next day,
Loving words were spoken, as he was laid to rest,
His grand-daughter approached, with tears in her eyes,
As she placed the single white rose upon his chest.

The cemetery was a quiet and peaceful place,
Where family and friends gathered to remember,
A gentle snow began to fall upon the casket lid,
Brightening the gloom on this final day of November.

The old gardener's soul departed from this earth,
Lead away by a choir of angels, on delicate wings,
Then on through the pearly gates of heaven's garden,
Where the white rose still blooms, in eternal springs.






November 25th, 2013

Written by: Kelly Deschler

More great poems below...


Details | Funeral Poem | |

Secret of the Mortician

The Secret of the Mortician

Dead, but I got eyes
Prepares my body at the morgue
Opens the chest
Drains the blood from its nudity
Admires my body before it decays

After The process of embalming
His hands run all over
I'm still dead
He's satisfied

The next day 
Writes an outstanding obituary 
I sit on display

~SKAT~

Details | Funeral Poem | |

Je suis Charlie

Translation below (in progress)


Celui qui n'a pas de cœur
Ne doit jamais reposer en paix

He who has no heart
Will never rest in peace


J’étais Charlie

De ma tombe
Mon âme pleure encore rouge
L’encre coule encore
Arrosage des fleurs ci-dessus
Les fleurs, fortes et belles
Elles doivent étouffer vos manières diaboliques
J'étais Charlie, je suis Charlie, Charlie toujours
Dans ma tombe
je ris
vous perdez

I was Charlie

In my tomb
my soul still cries red
the ink still flows
Above the flowers grow
the flowers strong and beautiful
they shall choke your evil ways
I was Charlie, I am Charlie, Charlie forever
In my grave
I laugh
You lose




Details | Funeral Poem | |

Mimes at My Funeral

When my time is done and I am finally laid to rest
I don’t want to be recalled as one who lived life depressed

So as I wrote my will, I chose to leave an instruction
That laughing gas be inhaled by all those at the function

No mournful eulogies will a pastor have to invent
For my funeral will be held under a circus tent

When dozens of clowns emerge from the tiny Volkswagen
Reams of my silly limericks Bozo will be dragin’

And as they’re read aloud, family and friends who knew me best
Will say, “She had a sense of humor, this we can attest.”

Mimes will mimic me trying to write the world’s best novel
As my corpse hangs from the trapeze, surely they will marvel

Laughter will ensue as they shoot me from the cannon
Flying high in my demise across the great Grand Canyon

All the children will smile and there’ll be no tears allowed
So no one will ever remember me as a “dark cloud”

There are people who seem to take life way too seriously 
When I meet my Maker, don’t view this as a tragedy

Dad called me his “happy girl,” so let me go out that way
I want to leave them laughing as I reach my judgment day

Details | Funeral Poem | |

This Song is for my Mother

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
I couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
A song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Created and cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Memory of a mother
Shared my dreams and really cared

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Mama…
I know I wasn’t there……

For you

Would have placed 
A magic carpet 
‘neath your weak and shaky legs

Would have raised
A strong west wind
Let you breathe with ease again

Would have bribed 
God’s venal angels
Come and soothe your endless pain

Would have vanquished
All the demons
And bring peace to you again

Be the child
I never knew
In a land
We won’t grow old

Be the light
I always loved
Warmed my dark 
And lonely soul

Be the girl
Playing games
In a world 
The sun won’t set

Be the laughter
Calms my heart
I never will forget
I won’t forget, won’t forget

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
Couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
Song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Created….cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke

I broke my promises, oh mama
Now you’ve gone away 
I’m broken
Drowning in the pain each day

I’m  drowning…drowning...drowning…drowning

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me…….


More great poems below...


Details | Funeral Poem | |

Motherland's Funeral

In the past, my country
cradled me within her womb,
but our roles reversed.
I held her in my arms,
felt her slip away.

I lost my country today.
Gave her up to synthetic medicine,
deficit spending, 
and pie-charts overseas.

They wrenched her from my arms,
took her from my loving arms
to poke, to prod and draw blood.
I prayed while watching attempts made
at her resuscitation,
as greedy hands held out pens,
prodding me to fill in the proper forms.

The world is on lithium,
the drug has defiled the last drop of clean water.
My country was on lithium,
for her, the vibrant colours turned into dull grays,
and in the end, her heart gave way 
from having spent too many decades 
trapped within a gilded cage.

She had an organ donor card -
her organs were sold off one-by-one
while she still clung onto life.
Her organs were removed,
replaced with waving flags
and roaring stadiums.

Men from every standing, race and creed,
groped Motherland's body
after causing her to bleed.
Many men had laid with her. 
Oh, how they did.
At least some men showed decency,
graced her with meaningful caresses.
But they were far and few between -
between the rape, miscarriages and spoils.

Lithium is being slipped into my drink,
into my food, into the very air I breathe,
so daily I purge,
horrified by my country's overdose.
She looks decrepit, splayed out in the morgue,
a cardboard ticket hanging from a big toe
like an empty, whorish price tag.

I will have to give her a proper burial in my mind,
for they are going to have Mother embalmed,
encase her in a glass coffin,
and put her on display.

Our Mother passed away,
yet the land is here to stay.
I will walk across clear-cut ridges,
pass through neon-lit distractions
as a gypsy vagabond.
From now on, the territorial lines
mean nothing more to me than rules to follow.
The shell of this country remains, 
Nationalism has turned empty-hollow.

I lost my country today.
Gave her up to synthetic medicine,
deficit spending, 
and pie-charts overseas.

I lost my country today,
held her in my arms,
watched her slip away,
felt her slip away.





April 30th, 2012

Details | Funeral Poem | |

Simply time to go, a little brother's lamentation

Too hard for me to say goodbye
For all apparent reasons why
Even though we all know it must be
Each heart will someday stop the beat
When the rhythm of life, and silence, finally meet
.
Yet I always seem so surprised 
To find that death is part of life 
Knowing that regret, will now haunt my every rhyme 
The specter called "if only", will inhabit every line.
Wish I could arbitrate a deal to have gained a little time
Just one more talk with Sissy, to ease my guilty mind. 
.
And the sun now sets on my regrets
I gamble on time and lose each bet
Thinking I'll move on and yet, 
here I set . . .
Wishing for one more time 
One more pun
One more smile 
That will never come 
.
If I could just recall the things you said that mattered to you most.
Memories un memorized
That now I'll never know
Years of conversation when I didn't pay attention
Times I should have said I love you 
And somehow failed to mention
.
Then when you tried to tell me you felt your time was drawing near
Your selfish little brother pretended not to hear.
Even when you did your best,  and tried to let me know
You'd made your peace and you were ready, and that for you . . . 
It was simply time to go

Details | Funeral Poem | |

O The Grieving

~~

My thoughts let go of a thousand memories,
     Like faces, dates, times and places;
Yet, I can easily recall each and every detail,
               On the day of your funeral.

                                    O the grieving . . . 

In the middle of a snow storm I followed,
     And the wind blew back my long hair;
As we meandered down a winding cold path,
                The wild storm paused in the trees.

                                    O the weeping . . . 

Snowflakes fell on me from the tangled branches,
     Falling like crying tears cascading down;
I am lost and moaning in this forever, ever memory,
                  And now the snow drifts in the cemetery.

                                      O the sadness . . . 

A headstone is buried deep in the pure white,
     And but one engraved word is revealed;
In this pristine cold, dead winter wonderland,
                     Only one word can be seen, mother.

                                        O the lamenting . . . 



              Hidden beneath the snow . . .

                   I will treasure your arms last embrace mother
                               Till this heart stops beating . . . .




_________________________________
September 24, 2014

Verse

Written by Broken Wings


Entered into the contest, A poem not entered in a contest, sponsor, Poet Destroyer

Fourth Place 


Details | Funeral Poem | |

I'll Be Back

Faded memories inked
on the shell of my
skin.
best friends forever
through thick and
thin.
Fourteen years ago,
blurred images I
remember,
cold stubborn tears
of a harsh December.
That little white
Escort could spin on
payment,
in that Denny's
parking lot, icy,
slick and wet.
We braved the storm,
like we always did
together,
You loved me, I know
I loved you better!
Always a sweet
smile, you brought
me joy,
Best friend loves
deeper than a love
from a boy.
Everything we did
together, a team, a
duo,
Off on the main
road, into the night
we go.
My hands on the
wheel, oh I was
scared,
Driving on ice, I
was mentally
unprepared.
Hazy shades of
winter, soaked with
tears,
The crashing sound
of metal, twisting
fears.
Why wasn't I the one
that met God that
night.
Eyes closed, your
vacant eyes in my
sight.

Arrested, I couldn't
go to your funeral,
Rehab, institutions,
adults gave me pull.
It was too much to
handle, sixteen and
sad.
I'll be back, I
promised, but I
never had.
I walked away,
blocked out the
pain.
I'd cry in silent
along with the
pouring rain.
Memories were
nightmares, I closed
the door.
I couldn't think
about your smile
anymore.
I killed you, it was
because of my deed,
I hated myself
forever, my
ignorance, my greed.

I lay on my
cancerous death bed,
My regrets filling
my daily guilty
head.
I'll be back,
holding your hand in
the ever after,
In heaven with your
contagious laughter.
I'll be back, with
my best friend, I
know I will.
After all this time
I hope you love me
still.


For Contest : I'll
be back
Date: 08-03-2014

Details | Funeral Poem | |

Grave-side Service

weather-beaten sign
driven down in dying weeds
forsaken headstone...
oh nameless, forgotten soul
the Savior knows who you are

Details | Funeral Poem | |

FUNERAL FOOTLES

Deceased Released Goodbye I cry Church pew Hurts you My bum Now numb No droppin* The coffin! 4th March 2015 Written before dad’s funeral - I'll take my cushion to sit on lol * not proper footle but I had to add it!

Details | Funeral Poem | |

The Psychostasia

The Psychostasia
(The Egyptian Funerary Rite)

For seventy days I’ve been prepared
With oils and unguents ever so rare
And with linen bandages to and fro
Wound and wrapped from head to toe

And on this journey I’m prepared to start
By enduring the “Weighing of the Heart”
With Toth’s oversight we’ll see whether
My heart weighs true against Truth’s feather

Should it fall short the beast will devour
My soul to oblivion in my final hour
Yet should it measure straight and true
The Pylon opened I’ll be ushered through

And then I shall fall unto my knees
And pray that Osirus hears my pleas
That he acknowledge and clear my tears
And accept my soul for a thousand years

And cleanse said soul of all its scars
And make me one with the canopy of stars
And bless my children and my wife
That they may join me in the afterlife

Details | Funeral Poem | |

Flowers,,,Beautiful Flowers

Flowers...beautiful flowers.

These flowers will not replace my friend.
Their beauty will soon go the way of life-
Fade and wither and then take flight.

Piled upon this mound of dirt to mark our sorrow,
Offered as a sacrifice to soothe our souls.
Petal nor thorn could save this rose.

Like flowers cut down in height of beauty,
This face that bloomed and wore big smiles,
Is covered here to rest awhile.

Then beyond the markers numbered many,
Placed in rows to make order of death,
I saw something that took my breath.

Flowers...colorful flowers...that filled
The field yet fallow...waiting for the day
When friends and family gather...and pray.

Flowers...beautiful flowers.

Details | Funeral Poem | |

the skeleton tree

i am the skeleton tree
bare branches where leaves
are suppose to be
i am the skeleton tree
bare bones and no flesh
not another me
i am the skeleton tree
thousands of ancesters
but not one child for me
i am the skeleton tree
the end of my fathers name
and so called legacy

yet i sing a song
like there is nothing wrong
and being last doesn't matter
and yet i've writen a verse 
that many will rehurse
when one day my poetry matters
and when i die
who knows who will cry
i'll just be dead and gone
but the skeleton tree
that once was me
will live on in eternity
the skeleton tree
that one could read
and ponder possibilities
a skeleton tree
that one could recite
tell the difference between wrong and right
a skeleton tree
with branches and no leaves
yet and still the best of me
a skeleton tree
in this world i leave






Details | Funeral Poem | |

Lettuce Pray - or what not to do in church

A funeral is not the place when you find you need to laugh
Here is my true story about my little gaffe
I hope this poem does not offend
It is written in memory of a very special friend

My father’s friend had passed away
And to the church we went that day
I was heavily pregnant and feeling glum
And awaiting the birth of my lovely son

The priest he came from a foreign land
His words we found hard to understand
When he said the words ‘let us pray’
I bowed my head and heard him say…….

‘Heavenly Farter’ (I cannot remember the rest)
For tears of laughter were falling onto my chest
The more I tried to stifle my laughter
The worse I became, it was a total disaster

I got a hanky to suppress the giggle
My shoulders up and down they did wriggle
Tears were flowing from my eyes
My husband looked at me with great surprise 

He took me by the hand and we left the church
On the pretext I was so upset and needed a quiet place to perch
Outside the church my laughter freely flowed
My eyes were shiny and my cheeks they glowed

When my father finally came out
I told him of the priest’s error and at me he did not shout
He decided he better have a ‘quiet word’
Their conversation it was not overheard

On our next visit to the Catholic Church
 Out of the building I hoped I would not have to lurch
I got ready to bow my head to pray
And then I heard the priest say ……

HEAVENLY FARZER! Oh thank the lord
My father’s words he had taken on board
Now when I hear the words ‘let us pray’
I cringe and remember that awful day


Jan Allison
7th February 2014
Contest The Poet III
sponsored by Gautami Phookan
~awarded 3rd place~

Details | Funeral Poem | |

FAREWELL TABLEAU

Funeral today Teardrops flow freely I gaze at the sky Sun sets on your life Glorious gold glow Soothes my breaking heart Jan Allison 16th October 2014 Contest: Design Your Tableau Sponsor: Nette Onclaud 3. One day I saw the sun set forty-four times!' … 'You know, when you're feeling very sad, sunsets are wonderful ~awarded 4th place~

Details | Funeral Poem | |

Field of Flowers and Stones

Lasting memories haunt a tearful mind
How distant the dreams that no one now owns
Etched marble, another name to remind
Lay in silent fields of flowers and stones

To search for days that will never be
and unearth youthful years that quickly passed
To stand in a field where soldiers are free
and know their torment is over at last

Eyes flow freely at a stone to behold
Brushing her hand across a marble name
Her fingers tremble for a son she can't hold
and years she will live with pain she will claim

Handed a flag that eight soldiers did fold
Knowing that her son will never grow old

Details | Funeral Poem | |

Slouching Toward Ferguson

His life was gentle, and the elements
so mixed in him that Nature might stand up and
smolder

bodies in unregistered cars idling softly toward oblivion

some quick to anger
some quick to profit
some quick for justice
some tigers lapping blood
some mothers still at 3AM

hands on shoulders with coos commanding
that in a tear and turned cheek there be 'integration'

parody: an orphan annie reboot
parody: 'little black sambo 'round the tiger pit he go!'

we have rioted the last of our colors
bleated them with flexed toes to the wall at the edge of the universe to reverberate starless between
eternity
nothing
and madness

we have bleated the last of our colors
with centuries gone by without tongue, sockets or lobes

we will bleed the last of our colors
some quick to die
some quick to steal
some quick to burn
some quick to 

lend me your car keys

in a night of full of Alarics
I will bury you

in a night full of piccaninnies
I will melt you to butter

in a night where flames are fishhooks
Sir I need you to step back please

O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth,
that
we have cried Havoc
let slip
and with purple'd prose stamped this hollowed earth

We who have lived so long
Sir?
shall with our breath turned mist
I need you to
stain only under stones
step
that pave with slippery breath
back
a headline for last weeks massacre
step
and tomorrow's graves
I need you to
I drew a line in the sand and you crossed it They are not breathing
Look! Look there!
No. I will not.
He dies

Details | Funeral Poem | |

Barricaded Babies

Nightmares tore her sleep with unseen teeth.
Her small thin legs in constant cramp from dream running.
She was only a child, but not the only child,
beside her, across a gap of oaken floor, in a matching bed I slept.

Whimpering brought me near,"Tell me good things," she'd say. 

"Make me sweet dreams." And I would snuggle her close.

"Warm, small, cuddly kittens," I'd chant 
and "chocolate bunnies to chomp."

The memories long gone, linger on. 
I remember her wet cheeks 
and sheets of woe night after night,
until the wee girl began to grow, 
to shield with the only things she knew food,
with food for thought and form sated
sleep came easier.

She grew through the nightmare of longing
our home, she grew to and past me
little mother, big mother,
she sang the songs of love to dolls,
to kittens, to stray dust-motes
and grew.

Too sweet to linger in the lost land 
where battles must be found and fought.
Too dear to go through life alone, 
need...garnered, family formed
upon the rack of sustenance
and the twist of genetic curdling's
she blooms still.

Barricaded at intervals from the nightmares,
cramped with too large a soul in too fragile 
a form, sister mine, friend of all.....

Details | Funeral Poem | |

And Now For Something Completely Different

The sun rose in the west today – or, perhaps, I was standing on my head?
I went to a funeral for my very best friend, but the chap wasn’t even dead!

Said he wanted to be eulogized while drinking a pint of beer.
I think the things we said about him, weren’t exactly what he wanted to hear.

“He was, or is, an egotistical old bastard – doesn’t surprise me in the least, 
that he wants to attend his own funeral service – God, what a horrible beast!”

And that, my friends, was from his Mom; the best friend a boy ever had.
“When finally they put his body in the ground, I think we’ll all be glad.”
Egad!

Global warming took a holiday, as the snow piled up real high;
that bugger for whom we passed the plate, took out his wooden eye.

The casket was full of cold cuts; The bartender doubled as the priest; I took another shot of tequila, while the sun started setting in the east. The ladies started undressing; my organ started to rise; I played Beethoven’s “Requiem”, with it pointing to the skies.
The only tears that were shed today belonged to the corpse who was still alive – His ex wife sang that old Gloria Gaynor tune, “You know, I will survive!” The next time he throws a party for himself, I think he’ll choose a different theme – And maybe the people who come and get drunk won’t be so awfully mean!

Details | Funeral Poem | |

The Moaning Of My Heart


*The Moaning Of My Heart


I laid my heart upon your grave
That winter day when trees were bare;
Their withered leaves fell down to brave
The chill of winter death and share
With you the frozen ground and air.
Cold tears of rain helped to impart
The gloom, as prayer some comfort gave…
But oh, the moaning of my heart.

I plucked a crimson rose that lay
Upon your grave as rain fell down
And joined my tears that solemn day.
I held it to my heart to drown
My hurt, then slowly turned around
To numbly make my way to part
And join with loved ones home to pray…
But oh, the moaning of my heart.

Then April came on quiet feet
To wake the trees with budding bloom.
Thawed ground gave birth, in Springtime heat,
To grass that hid the ashen gloom.
Now stung to life by Springtime’s womb,
The golden youth of Earth gives start
To find new hope, new season greet… 
But oh, the moaning of my heart.

I stand in shadow of death's sting;
Oh Dad, why did you have to part?
Help me to heal with reborn Spring…
But, oh, the moaning of my heart.


© Sandra M. Haight 2015 
   All Rights Reserved
 
~2nd Place~
Contest: Not Your Average Ballade
Sponsor: Catie Lindsey
Judged: 05/09/2015

The change I made is that I did not carry the recurring rhyme throughout.  Each
Stanza has its own rhyme. However, the third to the last line of each stanza rhymes with the refrain. ababbcac  dedeecdc  fgfggcfc  gcgc

*My Dad's passing was not recent, but a few years ago.  I wrote this poem about how I felt that day.  However, I still miss him very much.


.

Details | Funeral Poem | |

The Undyings' Curse

Deep in the earth, a crypt of rock
slumber guarded by casket locked
Lips grope silence ‘ever more
 rasping thought, remembers whispered lore
Outstretched palms the roots do clench
tranquility stilled by festered stench
And eyes, sleep caked, are propped ajar
ignites no life, but collapsed star

Burned blades sigh, Winds’ dying gasp
bones brittle snap within her clasp
A lonesome howl the moon does draw
vigil broken, it twists its maw 
Upon an arena of endless stone
the granite gates they’ve passed alone
And entered a world of burning eyes
eluded the judge of smoldering cries

A faultless gait, no stumbled draw
a reaping brought  by scythe and claw
Opal edge which shrouds a cause
aberrant blade shapes nature’s laws
Dictate a script, the stars can share
an open secret, a language bare
Steps continue, feet are drawn
across gray grass, undying pawn

Details | Funeral Poem | |

God's Dying Sky

Man's made sky.
The sky's known beginning and unknown ending.
I look to the sky because I'm interested about the unknown.
I should look to the sky for answers I all ready know.
Sometimes I find myself giving the sky a quick gaze.
Then three hours later, find myself in a complete confused daze.
Is this caused from my interest about the unknown.
Or by subconsciously soul searching for answers I all ready know.
The adventurous flow of the sky brings me much needed hope.
Especially when man has the world headed towards a down spiral slope.
Sometimes while focused on the sky, in some type of trance like steer.
All I can feel, is its man's created fear.
Thoughts of how it was once so pure and how now oil based waters brings no cure.
Man's made sky.
the sky's known beginning and unknown ending.

American Ocean Billy's  ( black gold that is ) 6-3-2010

Details | Funeral Poem | |

Revival

Bury your living
in shrouds curtain-crafted 
Deep in the earth
     beneath yellowed gardens
            seed and soil as dust
            stalks brittle as eggshell
     in bare-naked forests
            stumps for funeral seats 
            bones for decoration
Replenish, restore, return
Reunite with this forsaken goddess 
before she cannot rise again.

Details | Funeral Poem | |

Funeral of a Surrealist

Surrealist’s funeral is held in the air,
yet, his coffin is not carried by a supersonic speed plane 
flying through the open sky—altitude higher than the stratosphere,
gazing at the sun or a blimp drifting away, in the air, in a leisurely way, looking down upon the earth

but on a cloud pulled by an old eyeless pack-horse(1)—
the horse lost his eyes stealing a glance
on a flawless beautiful naked goddess on a moonlit night,
surrounded by a dense fog that makes everyone unable to see
the sky or the earth. 
	
The funeral procession, though no one follows, we hear the wail, 
someone must have crept up from underworld or descended from above, they follow the funeral procession.  

As the sadness long held in a heart bursts, 
the wail becomes louder and when it becomes louder, 
furious Zeus frustrated from failing to rape a mortal maiden, 
condemns the mourners “why the wail, impudent mortals!” 
and casts thunderbolt to pierce the heart of earth, then
the deafening roar grows louder and swallows the mourners’ wail.
 
As the mourners’ wail die down
dark clouds rush together in the sky, 
they pour onto the wilderness and become a torrential rain.  

The water rises, the mountain floats, time heaps up high;
a lonely boat passes through between streetlight poles  
lower than the river bed; when all the waters 
have poured into the sea a rainbow appears,
but it’s odd! only three primary colors hangs on 
the mountaintop, as if it wants to say something on its mind.

As rainbow fads away, Apollo hastens through a clear sky
driving his golden chariot chasing game;
I would rather hold my children’s corpses  
fallen from Apollo’s merciless arrows in my arms 
and become a lifeless rock with the never ceasing tears(2) 
than to live long as the weight of a handful of dust 
withering, shrinking and decaying under his blessing.(3)

Is that why, the surrealist’s corpse 
pulled by old eyeless pack-horse strikingly resembles 
a blasphemous artist wearing a pointed-up mustache 
with gold-chained melted watch in his vest pocket?(4)

Is that why, though his body is eaten by the worms(5)  
not able to obtain Peter’s sanction(6) to enter either paradise or hell?
Is that why, he is wandering in the air(7) surrounded by 
a thick cloud holding a piece of saecula saeculorum
with disabled two fingers stripped off from
the mustached artist’s distorted watch? 


Note:  1. Tiresias  2. Niobe  3. Cumaean Sibyl  4. Dali  5. Baudelaire  6. Matt 16:19  
7. Oedipus