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Anguish Most Dutiful - 'Reading at a Fueral'

The echo of the organs pipes, the absence of a breeze, The warm and dusty air, filling lungs still mired by grief. With a hundred looks of pity, and an air of sad unease, I stay staring at the hull-shaped roof, breathe deep, and start to speak. One set of dry eyes in the room; to which my sorrow does pertain, “Too soon, too soon, too soon…” I think, but composure must be maintained Until it can’t be any more.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019




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