The Traveler
A phone call came.
My friend is dead.
“Let’s hurry to the funeral,”
Said the weeping voice.
Upon arrival, all kinds of crying
Echoed through the room, Everyone in sorrow
And mourning faces.
Around midnight,
Complaining that time stands still, They play Go-Stop.
That sorrowful look in their eyes
Slipped away to somewhere far, before I knew.
The one who lost money
Sighs deeply, and keeps on
Playing the sorrow.
The one who won money, with a hidden
Funeral flower blooming on the edge of his lips,
Keeps on playing the cards.
Yet the only one still grieving in this place,
Was the traveler who had already gone far away.
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.
