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.
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