The Funeral Home Director

The funeral is quiet with the exception of muffled sobs, 

Murmured prayers, and a mournful violin.

A sea of black cloth surrounds the casket,

the faint sparkle of tears shimmers through the air

The mourners ebb and flow around the body

The feeling of death’s cold grasp still clinging to what once housed a soul

One remains constant nearby

Standing at the doorway

With eyes as dark as his suit of midnight

And a jackal pin on his lapel 

He watches those who enter this place of grief

It is his funeral home after all

It’s his job to guard those placed into his care

His name is Anubis, protector of the dead


When the funeral is at its end 

The living have left the cemetery, 

Dirt on their hands and tears still in their eyes

The body is buried with black soil piled high 

For the mournful, the day is done

They will cry again another day, but for now, they will rest

He remains behind

There is a second part to his job, one he is not hired to do

But he has done so since his beginning

“You must come with me,” he says

“It is time for you to leave this place and the scales are waiting”

The soul takes his hand and they leave this land of the living

It is his cemetery after all

It’s his job to bring the souls to their judgement

His name is Anubis, guide of souls


This poem is about: 
Our world


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