Flash of the news sweep them off their feet
The usual singing, squeaking and neighing of the horses in the stable
permanently dissolving unwillingly into exile and the
ceremonial wrapper of the wives of the house
jaded themselves into closure

No sound accompanying the unrelenting digging of the shovel
on the face of the soil at the backyard
Shovels making their loud low screams and the smiling of
the soil in await the stiffness bone to be thrown
forgotten and sever to dust then ashes to lost

Rain splitters in drops washing away the diggers' salty drops
Gnawing teeth making the moments a waste past of hunters' games
Feelings rushing its way below the six feet beneath
The sad happy moments taking turns to take over the time
The stable will hold keeping it stable for the last time

The grim reaper had taken second of his time
throwing tantrums into the glass house
shattering its once peace to pieces
Shovels closing up earth on it as silently as it has begun

PHOENIX
© Whitephoenix