The last thing I remember
was singing an ode to the
Lord - was a song of praise
Looked at all the parishioners
Most were on bended knees.
Most of them felt religious
simply because they tossed
a few coins and some lint into
the collection plate, and for
carrying the good book.
However, if they didn't seek
repentance, it wouldn't do them
much good - they were just taking
up space in a pew; the only remorse
they had was for wearing an old suit.
"Where was I? Oh, now I remember
Excuse me for getting off the subject
as I waxed poetic" - the last thing I was
doing was singing, but all of a sudden it
got quite dark - I was now inside a coffin.
Inside a silk-lined coffin with all the
trimmings, even had the illuminated
handle for a quick escape - meant for
the repenters; "Let's see, did I cover all
the bases during my confessions?"
I pulled on the handle, thought I was
deserving, but it broke off in my hand
Then came the sounds of a rusted iron
gate opening; a gravel road, and circling
crows - into the ground I went.
As I lay six feet under, wondered if I
had paid all my bills; shut off the sink;
and put out the cat? The good news
is, I made it up to the Pearly Gates
and was greeted by old St. Pete!
'2008' RLS
Many attend church...to be seen and forget the real reason for being!
Excellent writing with a message
***!***!***!***!***!***!***
Like in a dream
I watch myself die
And attend my own funeral.
***!***!***!***!***!***!***
And in her something...final year
She would conclude
There was just too much
Sadness in her life
That thing’s
Had quietly
Gone wrong and hopelessly
So out of hand
So she'd decide to act
And take control of what
Was left for her to take
And I remember standing silently
In numb surprise
With many others in
Assembly by the dirt
That fell like tears
Upon the casket drizzling rain
And wondering
Should I succumb to guilt
Or was there really nothing
That a friend could have done?
And still I am afraid
Of darkness
So I'll wonder which
Of us is more determined or
Courageous than
I would be in her place
Or why she left
Us here to stare
At one another and
The empty branches and
We here
Will never know…
Who would try
Who will remember
Who will lament
A fawn's cry
All alone -
If no one heard her
Did she make
A sound
Before
She
D
I
E
D
Love Tinka