Eulogy

He died.

No fanfare, no great revelation
No seeping darkness, no blinding light

He did not see his life
nor did he witness his death

His tombstone reads
"Here lies a man"

But no the epitaph lies
Nothing rots in the earth but

A mannequin doppleganger
stretched skin and white and waxen

There is no beauty
in his death.

There is no lover
tossing herself in the grave

There is no child
asking confused questions

There is no mother
giving confused answers

The weather is mild
no tempest, nor fog, nor blazing sun

There are 4 clouds, perhaps 5
and 7 mourners, perhaps 6

There is no beauty
in his death.

No manuscript was left unwritten
for the world to ponder

No masterpiece found
in his basement, appraised for millions

No genius left scribbled
the last ejaculate of his death throes

There is no beauty
in his death.

No funeral pyre
like a final fist to the sky

No tortured multitude
carrying their great hero

No flower sprung from the
last blood along the ground.

There is no beauty
in his death.

He passed as he lived
quietly without event

We mourn here today
in likewise fashion

The service ends
his brother gives a eulogy

There is a mumble
We all go our separate ways

We will be at work tomorrow
We will keep unscathed

There is no beauty
in his death.

Night fell on the
field of graves
The silence punctuated
only by a lone engine.

I found the stone
once more in the dark.

As the man did not remain
Neither did the A

There is no beauty
in our death.