At A Funeral

Two Weeks Later

"Beneath a sky of weeping grey,

We mourn the breath that was torn away—

Unfair, like a night that swallows day,

The cruel hand of fate has led you astray.

Your laughter, a distant, fading chime,

Cut short by the blade of untimely time.

Now we stand, grasping shadows in the wind,

Haunted by the echoes of what could have been.

Injustice scrawled in blood and tears,

We rage against the silence, against our fears.

But the world turns cold, indifferent, blind,

As we are left to carry you, forever in mind.

Rest, though our hearts burn in the frost,

In the garden of dreams where no soul is lost.

We’ll sing your name in every whispered breath,

Defying the finality of death."

A cold wind whispered through the trees, bending them like broken umbrellas. Dark clouds gathered overhead, heavy with the promise of tears. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a sea of bowed heads, draped in black. Who were these people? Whose funeral was this, anyway?