The Funeral

The silence of a funeral, more overwhelming than any experience, louder than thunder yet as silent as an angels breath. From life to death we walk this world, not knowing what we're in for until its too late. A resurrection specialist from the womb to the tomb, now an empty space in the hearts of everyone you touched. When the going got tough, you just kept on going. All the way to the other side leaving behind a trail of pain and suffering. The road less traveled, a soul unraveled to remain whole is a constant battle. Sip from the cup of hope to fill yourself with the courage you need to make it to the end. This is the end my friend and thanks be to god that its finally over. Over and over and over again. I drink to empty the cup yet you're always right there with the pitcher, but the refills aren't free here.

Hope love and faith to cope with what we create, to relate with patience we wait. Trying to focus and concentrate will you be the catch or the bait? I conversate with the voice in my head before it's too late. My hesitations procrastinate until the mere memory fades away. It's the sadness we take when the spirit leaves the body, hardly a respectable going away present, but to be in the presence of such love makes things like this all worthwhile. Silly traditions fill me with conviction to be more than just an upright walking talking contradiction. We wish and pray for a miracle everyday but turn our backs when it takes too long. If it doesn't fit into our timeframe, it doesn't fit at all. So we throw it back in the box with all the other pieces to this puzzle we simply have no time to solve. I'm done playing kids games, shame and pain to fame and the final down the drain.

The last supper, body and blood to consecrate our faith to the one above. A predisposition to cannibalistic tradition like the blind eating the blind in hopes they will see the error of their ways, and if not then at least they won't go to bed hungry. The body a temple, the eyes stained glass windows, and the mind is our own version of what god should resemble. We are like the proverbial child waiting for our father who art in heaven to come home, because mommy says he's just away on business but in reality he doesn't exist. We just haven't accepted the truth yet. So each night a place is set for the father yet the seat is always vacant. We must accept the harshness of a truthful reality, otherwise we will always be waiting for someone to come home who has left years ago. Its all in how we are trained, how we maintain, how we stay sane.

Such sadness and sorrow when we lose people we love. There's poison in between all the kisses and hugs. From the hits and misses to the dismissed and the dismissive, when you say hi try and not be so contradictive.