"The Funeral" by Kelly ´xeno_girl´ Wright

I wonder why it's always raining at funerals?
It's like the sky itself is mourning
Teardrops fall six feet down
into the dark hole.
Fat drops plopping into the moist dirt.

I watch the soggy petals slide like sailboats down
the glossy sides of a curved casket.
They gather in groups,
And throw themselves to the ground.
Finally resting in multicolored piles.

I look at the faces, deadly
white against the black of death.
Their heads hanging down.
Down like dying flowers.
Eyes staring into the abyss.
Hiccups in the shoulders.
Those left behind make their own rainstorms, salty
and filled with grief.

"Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust."
The dirt is gently tossed down into
the hole.
Released from soft pale hands.
Like quiet gravel on an old country road.
Slowly...
the vessel lowers.

Shuddering and groaning, it is swallowed deliciously
devoured by the darkness.
Down, down, down.
As one by one,
The black figures drift off, silent
step over the moist grass.

I look down at the fresh grave.
I gently touch
the cold tombstone.
Whisper a few words of peace.
"Gone but never forgotten," the epitaph reads.
I trace the curves of the inscription with one finger and read
my name above it.

"Time to sleep," I say as I pass through the lid
of a very nice casket,
and it's warm, still filled
with the air from the funeral home.
I close my eyes and wait for the light.
I hope it gets here soon.