A funeral

Pain stabs at your heart
a rusty dagger;
beckoning the blood to flow.
Tears with their own will power,
invade your face.
Weakened knees tremble
uncontrollably,
sending you tumbling to the ground.
Barely a whisper
above the sounds,
above the screams.
no one really knows
what to say to the bereaved.
priests
pastors
lie.
tell you that your loved one has gone
to a better place.
Please!
Give me a break!
Others touch your shoulders,
hug you
speak with their eyes;
their faces
sculptures
give the impression of sympathy. a most horrific scene
occurs once the last pile of dirt
hits the ground. Everybody is smiling,
pining for ‘happy hour’.
Looking at the crowd of storytellers,
drunkards,
spectators,
you wonder why
people bother to have funerals. Just have a party
get it over with.
No one sees the pain
behind your stare.
They’re too busy
having a drink;
on behalf of the dead of course.