The Funeral
The sky is devoid, of a single cloud, The mood is grey, As the mourners pray, Gathered around the corpse, wrapped in a shroud; Fifty human hearts are beating, A hundred human eyes are tearing, Albeit not does one apprehend, The hysterical cries, pursuing solace; The clatters and groans, The struggles and moans, A final effort to prove oneself, A concluding battle, with death itself; Piercing screams, are uttered in an attempt, To break the bonds, of eternal repent, These desperate endeavours, are rendered redundant, As the chains of mortality, have long since tarnished; Perseverance obeys and permits the battle to advance, With life does death, a final dance, The priest drones on, offering enlightenment, While the mourners receive, deaf to the ongoing cacophony; Do what may, The battle is won, While the efforts are earnest, Perpetual are the pains; The frenzied sounds, now cease to a moan, For human ...