A Funeral.

May death never stop this. 

May the reaper not take this away from me. Not yet.

The eulogy would be wordless, silent, a thousand mouths yawning open as smoke pours from their throats.

The ceremony held worldwide, nine billion lives pausing at a millisecond’s notice to wince as a hammer cracks their beating hearts.

Porcelain shards will fall as they open their mouths to talk, scream, yawn. Porcelain shards that fall upwards into the clouds, a fragile mosaic of mourning.

There will be no headstone to weather away as time passes beyond that moment.

There is no need for a burial, for we all carry that handful of dirt, that one rose in our wrinkled hands because the funeral is ours. All of ours.

It’s us.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s