I'm the one who has to die when it is time for me to die, so let me live my life the way i want to. - Jimi Hendrix.

The Morning of A Burial

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Nothing felt real. Everything was a tad off-centre. Drifting in and out of a state of somewhat semi-consciousness. I sat in your old chair and tried to rest my buzzing brain because the deafening silence in my room is too loud. The morning sky is painted with hues of golds and blues and pinks. The singing of the birds, once sweet, is now a painful ringing in my ears. The blackbird sings his rendition of the Death March. His melody haunting me and reminding me of what has happened and what has yet to come. It was a grand morning. A soft breeze gently kisses the trees awake. I tried to catch sleep but it rushed past me into the morning sun. And so, I no longer see you in pain. I see you in the robin who accompanies me on my walks. I see you in the first daffodil of spring. I see you in the smiles of the people I love. Your earthly presence has served its sentence. Now you begin your Heavenly adventures.



© sunflowerpoetry
2019-09-01

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