My Mothers Undertaker
The hole- so wide and lonely,
Is so unjustifiably small,
I imagine her decay slowly...
The crowd weeps at the door,
But I must not cry-
I am the undertaker.
The service- monotone,
The crowds grieving groans,
The shovel makes my hands ache,
But my heart must not break-
For I am the undertaker.
The rain falls,
And living is a chore,
Meaningless words emerge,
As unknown faces converge,
The many condolences I take,
And the consolidation I must fake-
Because I am the undertaker.
The coffin is lowered,
Dull Petals drifting …
But I must not lose my gripping-
I am the undertaker.
The clouds are gray,
The grass yellow,
My mask cannot stay,
And my tears are mellow,
Because I am the undertaker-
My mothers undertaker.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
