The Funeral

Respects have been paid by those with good manners and by the mawkish with restrained curiosity And now, I sit in a chasm of nothingness. Raging seas crashing from my eyes, whith salty rivers running from my nose to the tip of my tongue My day is slate grey with nimbus clouds abroad. And my ambivalence riles against a once merciful Being No longer registered are the passing differences between the sun and moon or the advancing hours of a stagnated clock. Gone are my reasons for either I have become Omega, last of my family. And now I sit, beneath a canopy of pain. Waiting for her whisper. Oh, dear God. Let it be soon.