|Prompt for: Jan 22, 2016 (Ren)
Subject or Theme: Any aspect of death (death, not mourning). (funerals, people or pets who have died, plants you've killed, murder, death rituals, metaphorical death, etc.
Word(s) to Include: blanket, river (or any derivatives of these words)
Forbidden Word(s): agony, death, die, kill, love, murder, tear (or any derivatives, compound or hyphenations of these words)
Additional Parameters: At least 24 lines
Remember, do not use forbidden words ANYWHERE, including title or the brief description.
Annie hated funerals.
She used to say that
they were for the living; not
Annie hated open caskets too.
No one looks like they are sleeping
and no one, absolutely no one,
looks good. They look like shells
of themselves for the spark
that made them who they are
has been snuffed.
Annie was plainspoken, no doubt.
Annie wanted a closed casket, no
flowers unless you hand-picked them yourself
and a wake.
Annie didn't want dreary organ music,
no dirges for her. She wanted
sprightly fiddles playing jigs
to make you tap your toe to,
reels to dance to and songs to sing.
Homemade food and old stories -- the ones
we've all heard a thousand times.
Annie wanted children and her Basset hound
paper plates and lots of Irish coffee.
Annie wanted sunlight, birdsong,
and laughter: deep belly laughs,
giggles and good memories.
Annie wanted folks to wake up and live;
not suffocate in velvet curtained rooms
walking on deep carpeting that swallowed sound.
Annie didn't want black anything opting
for color and brightness and life.
Annie didn't want folks crying nor
did she want anyone to curl up and hide
under a blanket of sorrow.
She always said that if
she were in someone's heart
that she would never leave... not really.
It would be different,
Annie said, as is the river,
from one moment to the next,
yet still the same waters
flowing ever onward.
Annie knew of what she spoke.
More than most people I've ever met,
Annie was, is, and always will be: