As I slip into a deep sleep,
Memories of him creep into me.
I shake in my bed grabbing at the place he used to lay.
I want to open my eyes to look for him,
But I know the outcome,
I do not want to see.
I miss the way I would fall asleep to the sound of his heavy breathing;
I miss when I could turn over at 2am and kiss his neck and his back.
He is gone,
I am here alone, walking the paths meant for two.
Every smile I see I think of you.
As I sit in the cafe he had shown me months before,
A single tear rolls down my dry skin.
His mind is now a fairground ride-I wonder if he thinks of me.
I grab the sweater he gave to me,
And slip back into a state of euphoria.
I miss him.

We are here to remember a woman. For indeed. She was one of those. A woman so vile. So repulsive. We remember her today because we are glad she is dead; for certainly, she may have become the next Idi Amin; for she wore a similar countenance, a hideous sneer permanently grimacing upon her wicked face. Also her love of torture. I recall the other day, when her black steps still cursed our earth, her slapping a cup of change from a homeless man’s hands while a nerve grating cackle escaped from her lips. She screamed into his face, him very frightened, her quite drunk, “Get a job you worthless Jew!”

On top of being a wicked ice queen who was a fan of Aaron Carter, this rotten corpse;  who will more than likely sour the soil here and create a pet cemetery effect on the other corpses, was an insatiable ****. She was the female Wilt Chamberlain. She will add one more to her long list after this service, when the gravedigger defiles her body for the last time, but really, he is the one who will be defiled and I feel sorry for the poor corpse ****** autistic mute who shall soon insert his semi-flaccid member into our not-so dearly departed. His **** will probably fall off.

How unlovable this creature. Quickly now. Help me grab her legs and heave-** her into the woods to be torn apart by the beasts she resembled, body and soul. If indeed she possessed a soul. Who can say? If she did, console yourselves in the fact she is gargling on gallons demon ***** at this very moment.  Her suffering will be legendary, as was assured to me by the Hell raiser himself in a dream I had.

Her death was a brutal one. And ******. Good riddance. Thank you to mortuary affairs for providing a closed casket. The smell was overwhelming. Especially when she was alive.

She leaves behind not just a cheering crowd of happy people, but a child, who now an orphan, will be put to the workshops immediately. Sewing Nike swooshes onto LeBron James limited edition pumps in the triangle shirtwaist factory. Which our society has deemed appropriate for soot covered orphans and their small hands.

Of course. None of these terrible things are true. The deep love I feel for this woman is only matched by the loss I feel at her passing. She was beautiful in life, generous and giving, she expected nothing in return for her many kindnesses. She loved to experience life, and I loved experiencing it with her. I enjoyed every minute I was lucky enough to spend with her.
Certainly, she was a magical girl. Colors will dim, Sounds will be muted, and the world itself is lessened. Goodbye my love for the last time. Rest easy draped in your silken clothing, forever underneath the shades of mountain wildflowers.

Robert E. Howard — 'All fled—all done, so lift me on the pyre—The Feast is over, and the lamps expire.'

William Butler Yeats’ epitaph:
Cast a cold eye
On life, On death
Horseman, pass by!

you are now resting in peace
and i am left with shattered pieces
memories of stories told
of collected old coins you had let me play with
of fallen hairs you kept on a far corner of your cabinets
rush through blurry windows
i miss you
i miss you
i miss you
your hands that used to be so warm
and always reaching for mine
are now cold and will fade over time
tonight I look at you
and see how your beauty remains
your grace reflects before the transparent glass
protecting you from physical pain
this maybe the last I will see of you ̶
closed eyes and shut lips
steady chest and sunken face
but I promise this is not how I am going to remember you
in my mind you are smiling
and telling stories with hands gesturing
you are beautiful, my serene love
i am watching you for the last time as it seems
good night, my dearest
and may you have sweet,
sweet dreams

Every Sunday they would play, dancing on water,
Skidding across the ripples, and climbing up together
Two skiers fall in love, I for her,

And she for another, a friend to both.
Coveting what we wished was ours.
Idly on the shore I stood

Where The water cooled my feet
Watching how she watched,
how she chased

with a smile, I'd have given anything to make.
When the object of her eye, fell
Hard into angels' arms,

And nineteen turns around the sun
Was all that he would have
She cried, and her tears broke my heart

We both lost a friend that day,
But what hurt me most
Was how I knew she'd have never cried like that

If it had been me who fell
And so inside I said, I wish I could have traded fates
So for once I'd have made her smile stay

The king of the castle sits,
His back paw scratching his head,
Ruminating.
The aging cat wonders if he'll ever lose
the itch.
Then, apparently having reached a satisfactory conclusion
The furry statesmen curls up by the fire
                                                       Drifting....
...off
                                             ­                              to...
                                                           ­                                                      sleep...
he purrs softly to himself:
The rumble of unfathomable ponderings.

A black flag frees its soul to the wind,
Enslaved to the hearse it precedes.

Colors of an ironic freedom hit the pavement,
Guiding the wheels that lead the wretched home.

No one follows.

No one asks whose parade this is.

No one reads a ******* eulogy.

No one will weep for the silent heart wilting in its flowery dream.

As we bow our heads..
In the shades right beneath..
Your family and friends..
Under this lonely oak tree..
We try to understand..
How a person can be..
Part of our lives yesterday,..
And today a memory..
As we close our eyes..
We all begin to see..
All these happy moments..
Tears drop from our cheeks..
We hold each other tight..
As we wish you the best..
You walk towards the light..
As we lay you to rest..
You're in a better place,..
And until we meet again..
Your memory will live on..
As we say goodbye to a friend...

Here’s to twelve years
To all the regrets and fears
To all the cemetery drives
And the wars we've survived

To all the kids from yesterday
To all those who wait and pray
What’s the worst that I can say?
I can take it but I’m not okay

To all the early sunsets on Monroeville
To all the heartaches that we feel
To all the boys and girls who sing
Make a toast and kiss the ring

You may be gone but your shadow lives on
It’s hard but we all carry on
Together this army marches
Dust to dust and ashes to ashes

This world is ugly without you
But we’ll keep it beautiful and true
This parade shall go on for many summer years
Through bullets, danger days, weapons and Three cheers

This army shall march on without you
We won’t ever say adieu
Keep your gun close, don’t fall through
Look alive, sunshine
May death never stop you

The faithful worker bees
Had paused for a moment to drink and reflect
-And from here slipped into slumber deep.
We climbed in eagerly,
Soaking exhausted bones,
Frozen feet burning with warmth's sweet kiss
Tiny bodies swirling around us
Wings, fur, curled up feet.
They had paused too long,
Perhaps drunk on nectar,
They had slipped.
Or perhaps,
Restless with the hive mind
They claimed their only escape.
To float in the infinite
To spiral in ripples of unknown
To curl up, small, lifeless
And be gently, lovingly lifted up
In angels' hands
Caught ever so softly
Our sorrow arisen
And for a moment
Of our own mortality reminded
- then they were flung away
to decompose elsewhere.
Somewhere more convenient.
"Let's make a bee grave"
We mused, wishing to be respectful.
As eulogy we talked of hive minds and sacrifice
Of the selfless, tireless work of the bee.

*Thank you,
For the honey
For this cup
Of tea.