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Personal Note:

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Poem

Here, we celebrate a life.  We say that it's a new 
beginning, and then we weep.

Here, we discover clarity again, as snowflakes coat a 
coffin lid - each one unique as if to say they

were crafted, fearfully, demonstrating 
that love is meticulous.  

Some here are stoic, their faces washed 
with unfeeling while other faces exude sorrow.  

I see sadness and apathy juxtaposed like
opposites on a color wheel and wonder 

why this place seems monochrome.
Violins begin sweeping the air of its solitude.  

A snowflake song beats cold in my bones 
with notes that pinch a morphine drip,

which begs the question "why".  Why doesn't the 
cold make me numb, this time?

We try to crumble like statues, here, but these
statues carry flesh and blood.  Their ears hear,

their minds think, and their skin feels that
iron-jawed bite, that Siberian chill...

Snowflakes coat a coffin lid.  Here, we speak
euphemisms.  We celebrate a life and call

it a new beginning, but we also weep at
the contradictions.  As snowfall covers

the coffin lid, violins weave a snowflake
song with notes that open wounds like surgery,

and it begs the question "why".  Why do my
feet feel nothing while my heart feels everything?

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