fantasy at a funeral

broken gravestones,
forgotten cemeteries,
pieces of broken hearts,
scattered below withering lillies,
willows that stare to the ground,
gullies from falling tears,
scavanging worms reaping apart cold corpses,
and infront of rust fested crosses,
a cheap black casket,
below dark umbrellas with brown handles,
held by weeping velvet gloves,
before a drunk father,
and a holy book to be read,
amid dark scary clouds,
that ashes for drops rain,
amid that sobre mood,
i see a lady i would never hurt,
her dry ripped lips bleeding of pain,
her dilated eye balls tales of cries,
beneath dirty sheets and torn blankets,
her dark eyes thunders received,
flying fists and express kicks,
a plastered arm,
a broken rib,
a heart scathed,
too much for loving the wrong clown,
yet to me a beauty she strikes,
in pale flesh agonies of days perseveared,
and though such a distress call she be,
to me a spanish melody she seems,
a lady sweet to make fairy tales,
a princess i would chase into raining volcano,
and as we sung in the sweet by and by,
from hymns photocopied in white papers,
a farewell bid to brutalies spoken by none,
i race thoughts to candles on long stands,
a table for two in dim lights,
and vintage wine from a sunken ship,
a wish,
a dream,
a fantasy,
a making at dead mens' ground,
if it were to be,
such a lady warmth would again feel,
love would again believe in,
never another tear to shed,
never another blow would hit,
never another cry would she make,
but that be my horse,
that not even i can ride,
so to this stable it be locked,
as we lay goodbye the man she had..

©2011