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The Funeral
September 10, 2013
You walk with the procession
In your unending depression.
Clad in all black
There is no turning back.
The pain is unyielding
A sword the devil is wielding.
The man of God speaks of their life
It feels like being stabbed with a knife.
Your best friend,
On whom you could alway depend,
Is gone.
The world has turned gray
Despite the brightness of the day.
You stand, gazing at the black box,
Wishing to God you could turn back the clock.
No tears fall,
For you have spent them all.
And you walk away,
Mourning this retched day.
© Carly M., Hopedale, MA
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