Image credit: el lobo

Whispering over me
Something that I heard
In their rush of misery
Cloying, clammy hands
All these dreams and plans
Spilling like rose petals on this bed
Someone giving last rites
Repeating in my head

The shadows lengthen every hour
I’ve watched them hover here
A stranger stands just to my left
Dressed in black and ribbon white
I might have even died of fright
When solemn eyes capture every gaze
Flickering left and right
Floating in this haze

A parade of familial mourners
Practising their grief
I’m not gone yet I might tell them
If they ever ventured close to hear
Perhaps its just the time of year
And they are gathered as a throng
I hear last rites and realise
I no longer belong
I hear last rites, I’m flying
And my soul is but a song

(c) Helen Valentina 2015, All Rights Reserved