He peers over into the deep hole

Ensuring everything is as it should be

Inch by inch the box drops further

The sun carefully watches its travel

Ever watching as it descends

Towards rest or peace or whatever

Society expects, dictates


The man is but a boy it seems

Inquisitive, morbid and assessing

He’s seen the cause of his disturbance

Sleeping or removed or not there at all

Never there at all perhaps

Dwelling in the dark depths of expectations

Never to be fulfilled or explained posthumously


The spectator stands behind cloaked figures

Absorbing the scene of mournfulness

A pastor reads the rites and enshrines Law

Poppies are tossed and fly home

Dirt crumbles between fingers and powders

Dust carries on the wind and draws tears

Of all that should have been but never was


The man was once loved, once flawed

But he lived, we suppose, we assume

We know what we see, what we hear

Do we know what was never spoken?

But was told or said behind backs

Behind doors or windows or beyond these trees

These that shroud our view or sight


The source of all pain and anguish now rests

Transported and welcomed by a Brother

Those left consider the legacy of this one

Who had no power, no education it seemed

No abundance of wealth or civility

He was simple and existent but not there

What damage was left all in all seems uncertain


The woman sees the boy, the man, the plaintiff

She sees clearly the scene, the ceremony, the passing

Not understanding whose benefit it is for.

The swirls and ebbs of situation and consequence

Seem clear and proud to her and her alone

She spots the regret, the unspoken apologies

And the boy who looked to that man for answers

But never found one. Not a single one.

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