Funeral Procession
And the surreal ramblings of a tired author.
Baby's breath and carnations, the distant smell of chocolate.
There is a spring storm brewing in the air and I can taste the lightning.
.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the looking glass of tomorrow the other day.
Black suit, black tie. Red bouttoniere, jaw set. The look of a cologne ad.
.
The sands of time poured over my shoulders and slid over useless hands,
Sticking in cufflinks that hold the initials of a corpse and its dead lineage.
.
To all the pretty people in the funeral gallery, I am just a ghost.
One of those harmless ethereal ones without the chains and fury.
.
My fury died when I could no longer smell the bleach over the flowers.
It went out in a fizzling hiss when I could not remember her laugh.
.
I can't remember her laugh and the pictures in my mind rot.
They crumble around the edges and all I've kept is the smell of her.
.
The smell of a hungry corpse looming large in the peripheral,
An anglerfish of a creature drawing me in with the smell of that bouquet.
.
It works with alarming ease because every winter hunts for spring
And every summer yearns for the cool touch of autumn in her green hair.
.
By pity, the birds fly North because I have become a beacon of anguish.
I am flocking to the Arctic to beg the Aurora Borealis to swallow me whole.
About the Creator
Silver Daux
Shadowed souls, cursed magic, poetry that tangles itself in your soul and yanks out the ugly darkness from within. Maybe there's something broken in me, but it's in you too.
Ah, also:
Tiktok/Insta: harbingerofsnake
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Comments (4)
I was drawn to the same lines that Cathy was! Such an abundance of strong images and emotional impact. Impressive work, Silver!
This is amazing. So many awesome lines, my faves being "every winter hunts for spring. And every summer yearns for the cool touch of autumn in her green hair."
A brave and insightful leap. Well received!
Artfully executed! "The look of a cologne ad" reflects the persona's rueful, morbid wit in an affecting way.