Would you attend a half-time funeral
Near the oak and pine branch at the cemetery,
Floral bouquet in hand, the last stand,
For the fool carelessly sitting there in the light
Of dark? Sorting through old newspapers,
Cigar in their mouth, unseen by such
That they remained happily in front of
Live TV watching the 7:00 news, amuse,
A vague smile, broken down besides
The window pane of a thousand tomorrows
Yet to come that never will. Piano dusty, keys musty.
You will see them at the "final hour of waiting,"
All come, when they finally reach you at full
Speed, to every end, to the same place you already
Arrived at in the light, and found the truth
Is not anything mystical or meaningless,
It's ironically simple, life is simply life.