A moment of grief touches yet another heart,
Another one among a thousand beautiful coffins, as another dear soul departs,
Standing on the edge of the grieving party, my cynical mind takes upon itself to wonder once again,
Why is it such a celebration as another soul transcends?
All out in their finest blacks,
Sincerest grief is what their hearts lack,
It's yet another occasion to put up a show,
Letting there fakest sad smiles glow.
Underneath all that farce,
There deepest thoughts for the dearly departed are rather crass,
Yet the priest's eulogy is filled with few beautiful words,
"A good son, husband, brother... Their kindness rather unheard"
It seems as soon as they stopped breathing,
It's upto us, whatever alternate reality that we are weaving,
To make up beautiful tales and lies,
To be remembered for years as the time flies.
It's a lavish affair,
Our grief more social, than personal,
It's like burying a past, an opportunity,
It's more for us than our departed friend.
The one who passed can hardly feel the silky linens in which he rests,
He is, but a mere entertainment for his guest,
The people around him walking in their Sunday's best,
Wine glasses clinking, voices lowered in whispered jests.
YOU ARE READING
Dystopia In My Little Utopia
Puisi"Within every dystopia, there's a little utopia." -Margaret Atwood A collection of poems, some from personal experience, some just feelings.
