Best Funeral Pyre Poems
funeral pyre
from the virgin flat plains
soared a modern funeral pyre
that stood so high
it could be seen miles away
with the naked eye
whose dense black smoke
released into the pure blue sky that day
the last drawn breath of many
waddling padded foot babies
like the silver blade from a heavy ancient sword
slaying the life of an innocent
white fleece lamb
too many died that day
in the heartland
Everyone cheered as the fire was lit
And innocent laughter surrounded the Guy’s pyre;
As crackling flames engulfed the stuffed figure sitting on top of it,
A hedgehog hibernating below, in the heaped dead leaves and briar,
Did not survive the children’s bonfire.
Guy – an effigy of Guy Fawkes burnt on 5th November
Fire swiftly releases and
A soul flies free on its course;
The journey to afterlife,
Needs no vehicles.
Living in the creek’s dark caverns, he was content with his homestead.
His dwelling place had been foretold
by fairytales on nights so cold.
A promise of the things to come were all that kept the fires fed.
Living in the creek side village, things were over simplified
her place was clear within the clan
to bind her with this darkened man,
to brave his ire and heal his wounds with love’s laughter and lullabies
Raised from birth to play a lead role. All sorts of nonsense in her head.
Her path was clear, her marriage set,
a passive life, a quiet death.
All was foretold when she was young at village fires and children’s beds.
She’d sat awaiting years and years, ready for life to move onwards
Shortly before the marriage day,
a woman came from far away.
Her tale of women taking stands and shunning the foreteller’s words.
The lady, she was not convinced. Her life was not to be excused.
By love she vowed to seize her place
and heal the man with love’s embrace,
thus avoiding the funeral pyre. Dreamers dream, they usually lose.
Slow burning funeral pyre
Whose flame burns with desire
Smoke clouds obscuring the sky high
Things I left as I was too shy
What remains for me in the end
Broken dreams not a friend
Resting, pleading hopes of romance
But at the time I didn’t learn the dance.
© Paul Warren Poetry
burning sea dragon
viking kings funeral pyre
mourners watch from shore