The Funeral


A candlelit room but dark at the heart
A body of friends, family torn apart.
A big black box holding what used to be,
An impatient soul waiting to be set free.
The shuffling sound of feet on the floor
All other eyes turn to face the door.
But I can't see them, all dressed in black
When they finally approach, I'm taken aback.
Their faces aren't red; their eyes hold no tears
I expected as much, after so many years.
Instead they are smiling, their heads are high
They don't weep, they don't wail, they don't scream "Why, oh why?"
They remember the cross, high on the hill
Accepting their loss, they know it's His will.
The son was lifted high in the sky,
And after three days as will I.
But death isn't final, a temporary thing
The son is alive; he's removed the sting.

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