The song of a dove played at her wake. Peaceful, so peaceful she looked now.
Finally at rest, at peace, forever gone. Beautifully stone.
Now the world might not bare harm to her anymore. Not that her life was unsavory. She grew up carefree, a tiny girl, spirit free, souring. She danced through lilac fields at ages of youth.
Now you may be thinking as record of my last writing, I harmed this woman now of old. But I assure you, I have not.
She had faced a long painful death at the hands of the god we all know. The power said to protect. The damned "Savior" that in fact saves us not! Saved her not. The oh so mighty one who has the eligibility to deem peaceful souls unworthy of the physical anymore.
I sat, oak beneath me. Darkness once again seeping into my brain. Again the disease growing. Not anger nor homicidal cognition but, sadness.
I prayed to this lord. This power, an unnerving plea. Nothing answered and then was when my sadness grew to anger. Restrictions of my impulse to scream and swing my arms in fury at something perhaps fragile caused tremors.
These tremors growing so bold I thought the chandelier at the ceiling might begin to do so as I had.
Vibrated so much that crystals of the glass spilled down like a rain. A rain that might shed death upon the oblivious mourners.
Instead I sat. Tears streaming. Hiding, sobbing, pleading with someone once said to rule out there in oblivion.
Sobbing, pleading, for her to come back.
