[GeoffC]

This Thread needs a boost back up the list !

Things are a bittie morbid in our house at the moment, perhaps time I finished this little morbid tale !

Death's Funeral Remembered

Not a word did he say, as that hearse passed him by.
He thought, though, long and hard as he walked along side.
A slow drive it was, to be sure; he gained on it, step after step.
The picture remained, in his mind's eye however;
the coffin top was bare.
no assortment of flowers
not a sign of remembrance for who was within.
Not a single car made to follow;
not a cortege behind,
not a walker ahead.
The hearse arrived first, he plodded on after.
There were bearers, or so it would seem.
They looked to be press-ganged, and paid just a penny.
To the chapel they staggered, and pushed open the door.
To the altar they were solemn; to the stone they placed the box.
No one was there, not even clergy, not even a mouse.
Flowers were few, and these mouldy from age.
Dust on the pews looked thick and even.
Cloth on the alter looked shabby and worn.
The cross up above; tarnished.
The sun could not shine, the clouds were a-shrouded, any glass covered in grime.
Tawdry the image.
Through an open door a screech rang out
a cackling cacophony as two stygian birds
flew in
Ravens, by their look;
or Jackdaws, maybe.
They both landed a-top of the box
and a scolding conversation they did begin
as they peeped and poked --
then a "rat-a-tat-a-tat"
as one after the other they both started
a staccato sufficient to waken the dead.
As spirit birds they knocked
as tricksters they rapped
as black as the coal in Hell's deep fire.
with gloss on their wings
and a beak of black steel
they rattled and battered
and battered and rattled
'til a splinter they raised, then a bit more.
'til a hole they had pecked, then even more.
'til 'twas all in a tatter
and did they then natter.
One looked with its eye
a long probing stare
long and hard, cocking its head, one side then the other.
Then they darted, each after the other
one had the left, one had the right.
(eyes that is)
Off they then flew
satisfied with their coup.

He was no mourner, the man passing by.
He was no watcher, of a life no more.
He was no caretaker, no one who did care.
He took the jobs no one else did want,
as a guide, as a guide, to the fore.

But now he understood
as one eye went left
the other to the right
and the views he did see
were the last
in this life.
As the birds carrying Death
flew at a mighty pace
no winner, no loser
a race without grace.

He was no mourner,
He was no watcher,
no caretaker who cared.
'twas was just him
now and forever.


© 30th November 2010