Funerals

An echo of a broken hope will whisper into the skin:
How long this emotion will last, how long has it been?
The broken dream is scattering into small pieces,
You close tired eyes, when hope, it just ceases.

Don’t be afraid to embrace the feeling of ‘that is too late’,
And disappear in the final whisper to the unreachable mate.

An echo of forgotten promises will agony during the night,
Beware of it, when you just vanish from the on-going fight.
What you deserve? A sit will wait for your attendance,
Among the corpses on the funeral ascendance.

Don’t be afraid of taking the responsibility to leave,
What else will be going on when you jump from a dead cliff?

Your breath becomes an echo of everything unsaid,
While the free falling is doing nothing to save you from ahead.
You disappear from view among unnamed chairs;
Too late for funerals, too late for boiling tears.

My echoes are clouds moving close the distant horizon,
Changing colours or shapes when you come near to rise in.
We won’t meet this time, it’s wrong to believe this timeline.
But it is okay, I know they care for you, and you will be fine.