The Funeral - Dark Poetry
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Many weeping people have come to my funeral with flowers,
Oh the red roses are so beautiful and the lilies divine;
My dress is of the softest rosy pink and it is all chiffon and wispy,
All my visitors are talking in low hushed voices.
They say I look beautiful and I want to smile but cannot,
It seems that my pink lips and my mouth are sewn shut;
My hands are folded upon my chest and I am holding a rosary,
Odd, I do not recall owning white pearl rosary beads.
Then they all leave and I am alone in this dark cold room,
Well, I might as well get some sleep in this dream;
So I try to close my eyes and realize they are already closed,
I hate this dream and I struggle to leave it behind.
The next morning the visitors are back with sad smiles,
They kiss my cheek and their tears are falling on me;
I am being carried away in this boxy thing with the lid closed.
But I can still hear everything, the prayers and songs.
Oh dear Lord, I want to wake up now, I am so afraid,
I feel movement of wheels beneath me, the turning;
And I sense the tranquility of the cemetery and green grass,
And then they are closing the door of the family crypt.
I am screaming, I am still breathing, don't leave me here.
Or am I? I'm not sure anymore if this is a dream . . . . .
________________________
September 17, 2015
Verse
For the contest, Dark and Twisted, sponsor, Nathan A.
6th Place
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2015
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