Valar Morghulis ~ All men must die
Today.
Another funeral.
The church is cool and silent but grief; grief, it is everywhere. It hangs heavy on the parchments of the faded pages of yet another song that will be sung. Again.
It is etched on the lines of weary faces, brave masks that must be put on as we prepare to say our good byes.
Grief is palpable, on dry mouths and stained cheeks. It fills the air, in the flowers around the casket and the incense at the altar.
And so grief, in all things, like death, is certain.
Today.
Another funeral.
The church is cool and silent but grief; grief, it is everywhere. It hangs heavy on the parchments of the faded pages of yet another song that will be sung. Again.
It is etched on the lines of weary faces, brave masks that must be put on as we prepare to say our good byes.
Grief is palpable, on dry mouths and stained cheeks. It fills the air, in the flowers around the casket and the incense at the altar.
And so grief, in all things, like death, is certain.
Morn awakes
Slow mist
Stirring
Breathing
But the dead
Know
Nothing
Morn summons
A haze, transient
Humming
Echoing
But the dead
Know
Nothing
Morn rises
Its gaze, untaken
Smouldering
Raging
But the dead
Know
Nothing
Dusk, Day
Is done
And the living
Know
That they will die
But the dead
Know
Nothing
For the living know that they will die,
but the dead know nothing
~ Ecclesiastes 9:5
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