I watch as a light rain falls upon the
mournful group in front of my church,
so many I would never have imagined.
Wisping among their conversations
and hearing hushed whispers of my painful
suffering inflicted by systemic scleroderma;
I hope they trust that I am now
free from the searing pain.
Oh, there are my rug hooking friends filing into church
commenting that even with pain I continued to hook
flowers, shrubs and images of my favorite sea shore.
They all nod in agreement when it is said,
"Her best was that humorous wall hanging of
'Three Monkeys Jumping on the Bed.'"
A hush comes over the church as my favorite nephew
Mark, steps to the pulpit tears in his eyes, a muted
sob as he begins to read an elegy about his aunt.
I glimpse over his shoulder and see it was
written with a shaky hand.
In the front pew is Ron, the man who made for me a
gentle and loving home in which I was born anew.
Tears are welling in his eyes, he's murmuring soft
mournful sighs...
"Oh, dear one, don't you cry.
Sweetheart, please know, I'm free of
the crippling pain and I am waiting for
you to be with me in our celestial home."
|
| Writing Prompt |
Write a poem about a funeral from the deceased's perspective |
|
