Blackness

Another family gathering.
The place is packed with deep blue sadness.
For the passing of yet another friend.
Faces are strained to the edge of recognition.
Pretty bouquets garnish a garish metal basket.
A holy man tries to capture the spirit of a stranger
in a couple of passages.
Failing.

Like a game of she loves me, she loves me not,
death is stealing the family flowers one by one.
Next time we gather, there'll be one less
A puddle of infinite blackness.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2025

Poem

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Allison Avatar
June 25, 2025 at 2:24 AM
such a touching piece Anthony - such well observed imagery - I love this line in particular "holy man staggers to capture the soul of a stranger" it is so so true! hugs Jan xx
Bianco Avatar
July 6, 2025 at 4:42 PM
Thank you, Jan, God Bless Anthony
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