Your Funeral

I’m standing at a wooden podium in my black dress and black shoes Staring past a black microphone at a mass of pale faces drowning in a sea of black I’m supposed to talk about who you were before they put you into that black box and cover you with black dirt My hands are shaking My voice is choked while my mind racing About past times and past feelings Because the present is too painful, too unreal My hearts pounding even though I feel dead Rose pedals are the only colors Even they seem dead, Floating in the blackness of a fabric ocean, Dead like I should be, Lying next to you in your lonely box Thinking of never being able to gaze into your eyes again, Only to see them in pictures... I’m crying at a wooden podium, Staring at a mass of drowned faces in a sea of black Cold fingers take my arm and lead my black shoes clicking down black steps Away from your black box I never got to tell them about what a great guy you were And how sometimes you made me cry I never expressed everything I felt we made it through, Even if I wasn’t your best friend or your lover I never got to tell you how much you meant to me... I’m sleeping in a hospital chair When two warm fingers brush away my tears I’m squinting from the white florescent lights Bouncing off the white tiles to the white curtains Making you look pale in an angelic glow As you rest under your white sheets Written April 4th, 2002 © on Apr 03 2002 03:18 PM PST   18 • 0 • 10