The Funeral Procession
This is the closest that I have ever been to a funeral for more than forty years, a young boy just eighteen was shot dead for stealing
I sat quietly on the school veranda and watch the hearse drive into the yard and parked on the property that house the church and the school. I saw them arranging the chairs the day before
But I did not know what was going on for sure, so I inquired within. I could hardly believe that it was a funeral, neatly adorned blue and white ribbons, everything looked so divine and pristine. The casket and the dressing was so pure, it looked like a romantic wedding on the sand shore. I watched people streaming in and I could feel the fire burning within, no tear no smile, just a useless grin and the chatter and the laughter has caused me to wonder. I could hardly believe that it was a funeral because the dress code was very loud, short miniskirts and party shirt, and a fashion that was so impure, the old ladies, the young girls, and men galore, some not ready for the season and they come without a reason. I could not tell who was close to the youth because no one was telling the truth. The hearse parked in front of me and I heard a sniffling and continuous talking, a man that looked like the father of the youth was crying for truth because it was his son lying beside the gun. He seemed a bit anxious but he did not fuss He had the expression of an officer and a body of a father. I could see deep remorse in his eyes and the spirit of God standing by. At quarter past twelve the service began to bury dead. I could hear bits and pieces of the sermon as the procession roll along, a thief? A gun slinger and a potential murder his innocence was so hard to tell. The day was already done and there was no more room to have fun.A young man whose life was taken too soon was destined for doom, the shouting from the pulpit and rebuke from the sermon could not bring back the dead to life.
The procession ended with a happy song and the minstrel marched along. Sunrise, sun set the spirit of death rolled up the street and community followed the hearse to the cemetery.
Copyright © Christine Phillips | Year Posted 2020
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