Death itself is not difficult to comprehend; the funeral is.
This is clear as I am currently drowning in my sorrows, as my feet march into this black abyss. All I can hear is the heavy, pounding feet of others, as we march as one. Marching to our downfall. It is a difficult sight to witness: couple’s hands clenched together, gripping at each-other as though the pain will subside if they squeeze hard enough. It’s purely comfort. But sometimes I wonder if it is merely superficial comfort – to help console others, rather than themselves. I only mention this as I have never seen their privileged white face near my son before.
Not that I say this to their faces as I sidle by them, the worn-out heart in my broken chest doesn’t dare fight one more battle. Staring at them is far harder than my brain had calculated before-hand, my heart is …show more content…
I can feel their anguish, and torment deep in my bones, and it is agony. I can feel my heart bleeding out,
It hurts to feel.
I do not try to hide my misery as the band begins to play, and the coffin starts to fall, as all I can see is white, in a sea of black. As the thunder claps above me, all I can hear are the shots rings out. One. Two. Three! I can hear the screams of a boy who will never live another day, who will never laugh, or cry again. As I watch the coffin drop, all I see are the bullets soaring. I can see the blood pour from his chest, litre by litre, the life escaping him as they let go of the coffin, fumbling.
The smallest coffins are always the heaviest.
My vision blurs as my knees collapse, my ears ringing and brain buzzing. He was just a boy. The last thing I see before sinking, is the white man holding the gun. The man meant to protect and serve. I. Can’t. Breathe. As I cry, I can hear the loud footsteps begin to fade away, until there is only I. My nails are black from clawing at the dirt beneath my knees, my eyes glaring at the disappearing feet. It is not their fault, but pain has no
This is clear as I am currently drowning in my sorrows, as my feet march into this black abyss. All I can hear is the heavy, pounding feet of others, as we march as one. Marching to our downfall. It is a difficult sight to witness: couple’s hands clenched together, gripping at each-other as though the pain will subside if they squeeze hard enough. It’s purely comfort. But sometimes I wonder if it is merely superficial comfort – to help console others, rather than themselves. I only mention this as I have never seen their privileged white face near my son before.
Not that I say this to their faces as I sidle by them, the worn-out heart in my broken chest doesn’t dare fight one more battle. Staring at them is far harder than my brain had calculated before-hand, my heart is …show more content…
I can feel their anguish, and torment deep in my bones, and it is agony. I can feel my heart bleeding out,
It hurts to feel.
I do not try to hide my misery as the band begins to play, and the coffin starts to fall, as all I can see is white, in a sea of black. As the thunder claps above me, all I can hear are the shots rings out. One. Two. Three! I can hear the screams of a boy who will never live another day, who will never laugh, or cry again. As I watch the coffin drop, all I see are the bullets soaring. I can see the blood pour from his chest, litre by litre, the life escaping him as they let go of the coffin, fumbling.
The smallest coffins are always the heaviest.
My vision blurs as my knees collapse, my ears ringing and brain buzzing. He was just a boy. The last thing I see before sinking, is the white man holding the gun. The man meant to protect and serve. I. Can’t. Breathe. As I cry, I can hear the loud footsteps begin to fade away, until there is only I. My nails are black from clawing at the dirt beneath my knees, my eyes glaring at the disappearing feet. It is not their fault, but pain has no