There is funeral going on, hush for the death. quiet for the mourning, the dead demand respect. There is a death and I grieve you so pity on me and silence, I beg. let me tell you how I mourn you I yearn back our laughs in synchronized pops of noise one tinkling on bellowing with breathe. I am rage, full of bitter that I must grieve your hand as I know that hand so well! That hand held mine and so It must be that it were mine so Naturally I RAGE for the loss of my hand as well. Quiet. Stillness There is a procession See? We were happy once Perhaps it wasn't us that died. Perhaps is was contented's demise and we are still an ember of life and I am at the wrong funeral because we are still flickering a bit ...just a bit. it's all you need to start a fire a spark of yellow will do. I see red when I look and see your blue cornfield eyes I see yellow in the fuzzy field of your hair. Shh.. they are kneeling. Shhh Something has passed on but it's not us? Right? This is not final walk? There is hope... I showed it to you! Hope, we've just taken a wrong turn you and I This is not our funeral My hand doesn't grieve. My lips do whisper respect. Shhh. This is a funeral. Respect for the death.
sahn 11/2/14
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