Thought a bump in the night, an elbow nudge,
stumbling past, and then back again.
Heavy footsteps, footsteps approaching,
dressed from head to toe in black.
Recitation of ritual praise,
then silence falls over the room;
heavy breathing, breathing enveloping
my soul as a tomb.
The congregation to their feet,
a procession out through my eyes:
footsteps heavy, haunting and slow,
in time with the funeral bell's chime.
Hear it above the crowds, the screams,
and everything that you give
to a memory, as though a soul.
Feel the shovels begin to dig
at outer layers of flesh, through bone.
As pine splinters invade invade the chest
a solitary regret makes its peace:
having not seen you at your best.
