Threnody

'The dead will rise,

As the sun then dies.

Be careful child.

For the living tell lies.

So sing a quiet song,

And the dead will sing along.

Sing your threnody,

But only for the strong.'

When I first heard it, I didn't think much of the poem. It was the same one my grandma had told me every night as she tucked me into bed. The poem, at the time, had seemed magical. It was filled with mystery, wonder, and fantasy. Every time I heard it, I would come up with a different meaning. One day it was about a prince coming back from the dead because of a song, the next it was about a group of pirates trying to appease their god of death. Every night my grandmother would read me that poem, and every night I was transfixed, unable to do anything but imagine. 

However, the magic of the poem, though it still held a special place in my heart, had long since disappeared by the time my grandmother had died. After her death, I could no longer stand to read the wretched poem. I was caught in a state of grief, mourning my grandmothers passing. 

After living so long in a fantasy world of prince's and pirates, I was devastated. Reality seemed to be a knife, cutting away at my fantasies and painting a more rational picture with what remained. I didn't like reality, and often found myself looking back at the times where everything had been so exceedingly simple that it was borderline complicated.

Eventually, I had gotten so deep into mourning that I could no longer think of anything but the poem, my only reminder of the women who had raised me. I had to find the poem. I had to read it one last time, just to confirm that my childhood hadn't been a dream.

I searched and searched for months, but there was no sign of the poem. I couldn't figure it out. Where had the poem come from? Was it even real? I couldn't help but feel a bit cheated. After all, I had been raised with this poem, and now it had the audacity to disappear.

I couldn't take it. I grabbed the nearest vase and threw it. I did the same to the tv, the computer, and everything else I could lift. I didn't stop until my entire apartment was completely destroyed. It wasn't rational, but I didn't care at the time.

Tears shamelessly streaked down my face, leaving dripping evidence of fear. I knew what had to do next. I didn't like it. In fact, the very idea of what I was about to do horrified me. At the mere thought of it, I wanted to curl up and hide. I didn't want to do this, but it had to be done. It was the only way I would ever be at peace.

Soon enough, people would be singing my own threnody.