A poem As a Coffin

As a Coffin

As a coffin, silent and still,

I hold the secrets, deep and chill.

Encased in wood, or metal, or stone,

A final resting place, alone.

I cradle dreams that ceased to be,

Lost to time, and memory.

Echoes of laughter, whispers of cries,

Within my confines, they all lie.

As a coffin, I stand so firm,

A witness to life’s quiet term.

Each soul I guard, with tender care,

Their stories woven, fragile and rare.

I’ve seen the tears, the grieving eyes,

The heartfelt prayers, the soft goodbyes.

A silent keeper of sorrow’s weight,

Holding love, holding fate.

As a coffin, dark and deep,

I hold the ones who gently sleep.

In my embrace, they find their rest,

Their journeys end, at last, confessed.

No breath, no beat, no pulse inside,

Just silent echoes, where life once tried.

I am the end, the final call,

As a coffin, I embrace them all.

Yet in my stillness, hope may bloom,

A silent promise beyond the gloom.

For though I close on life’s last breath,

I’m but a door, a pause, not death.

As a coffin, solemn and grand,

I hold the stories, grain by grain.

In every line, in every seam,

A life once lived, a final dream."