In A Funeral Where Nobody Cries

There’s a funeral

where nobody cries;

where the corpse lie in distort

and people dress nice.

Death was two fortnights ago

yet, still unburied ’til now.

“They must be waiting for someone,”

One thought. “Or something, somehow.”

Strange, it really is,

Flowers withered, candles used out;

Lamentations sung but don’t pierce,

And the face seems stifling a shout.

Then someone came one day

and the stranger actually cried,

with real tears, mind you;

then he learned it was suicide —

A note beside the body

handwritten, addressed in particular

saying, “I can’t love you enough here

So I’m loving you somewhere far.

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