The Average Funeral

Tue, 04/05/2016 - 14:18 -- 18mec01

a face powdered with the tan dust that covers thick,

removing all lines and any last glimpse of life or being,

transforming to a body, a deadweight, there for last goodbyes.

how do you say goodbye if it doesn't remind you,

it's not a last farewell if it's not the one you would administer that farewell to.

so many people, hustle, bustle, food dripping from their mouths,

the lack of respect is harsh and sharp, a blade that slices open the scabs that had begun to form,

to heal over the pain and the tears, form an encasing to protect and preserve,

so that you're left with the blood seeping from the sores, pouring and flushing upon the pale skin,

face full of fright and fear, struggling to comprehend.

a face not just powdered but redone, every inch with a layer of paste, to transform,

so you wouldn't notice the change, though it jumps out like a flashing red light to warn,

made to hide the impurities, but they're the ones that made them human,

it's a sickening destruction of last parting, when you can never return,

a remembrance of a time that is lost forever in the mortal world,

so people leave the mortal world in a hope of glimpsing that beauty, that truth, and that life. 

The paste is thicker now.

the day grows dim, people slowly part,

to go to lunch, eat, laugh, and relax. but how can the closest relax?

they haven't yet come to terms, haven't yet acknowledged the passing because it was never accepted,

it never truly happened, the paste was made to cover the pain, but it only exasperates the affliction.

and so they each part, one by one, pay their last 'respects' and expect that to be all,

but those closest hang behind, to be forced away by janitors or workers,

they were waiting for the paste to fade and slip away, but it only grows thicker with each hour,

they were waiting to glimpse their loved one, but they were gone when the first brush touched,

to remove the stains and the blood, but to replace with a haux.

the paste grows thicker, and the tears start to flow,

the paste grows thicker as tears flow faster,

and finally the paste is a part, is how they remember, what they see when they think of them,

and so their loved one is gone forever, and it's all because of the paste.

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world

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