The stage is set, someone has died.
The grounds people dig, the church bells ring.
The air is moist, cheeks are puffy.
Eyes are red and tissues are close.
The flowers have arrived, the wake has begun.
Familiar faces begin to sit in the wooden pews of the church.
The minister has chosen the sermon, the family the song.
The victim’s favorite begins to play, it is one of mine as well.
The coincidence is uncanny, very unusual, “Holes in the floor of heaven”.
As I listen to the words I begin to weep.
I notice the family in the first pew,
Their heads are bowed, but I know who they are.
I begin to scream, but I know no one hears me.
The funeral is mine.
The stage is set, I have died.
Six of my close friends act as pallbearers.
They place my coffin in the ground and it descends.
My life has ended, even though it has just begun.
I never knew how many people cared, now I do.
But it’s too late.
The end has begun, the afterlife is here.