Why Throw a Funeral?

A poem about death

Death is a momentary jerk—

pain and darkness;

or a soft flight

on whippoorwill’s wings.

Where does the journey end?

No one knows for certain

Perhaps in some distant land;

a land we percieve

now like—

a shadow in our mind



A land where we cannot feel—



mourning,



pain,



wailing,



regrets,



the weight of life;



or the sadness



we long carried

when we walked

in the waking world—

and then all thought,



maybe



turns into a dream;

we walk lightly

through years uncounted



undisturbed



by the troubles of the world



unconcerned



with those we left behind