Irish Wake

I know tomorrow,
when the world grows steady
and quiet –
we’ll close the curtains,
mute the sounds of modern life,
and stand for a
moment
hands clasped,
hearing the rasp of
broken footsteps at midday
Then, the coffin will travel,
with flowers growing old
in the air conditioning of
a herse, with cracked leather seats.

For now, we stand round,
and drink and eat around a dead body,
(Some houses are too small,
to accommodate the guests that
one has known in life)
there’s nothing strange about
the outbursts of crying
of laughter, or even, after both of these-
of silence.

Death has never seemed to me something to
be scared of,
it seems to me that we end up,
surrounded by friends, and even enemies,
who somehow look back on you,
as someone playful, maybe.
And there are deaths that are tragic.
Deaths that don’t warrant laughter,
or hope, – but for now I’ll indulge slightly,
In how death can be a peaceful affair.

This may seem to be a morbid,
poem,
but the truth of humanity lies in our mortality,
in a an ability to heal together,
to be together,
when it seems like all is lost,
and the Wake is a time,
to remember, the joys of life –
someone else’s, to be sure,
but you walk
away, a little more grateful, a little more loving,
a little better, in the face of death.
At the Wake, you ‘wake’ up.

I know tomorrow,
when the world grows steady
and quiet –
we’ll close the curtains,
mute the sounds of modern life,
and stand for a
moment
hands clasped,
hearing the rasp of
broken footsteps at midday
Then, the coffin will travel,
with flowers growing old
in the air conditioning of
a herse, with cracked leather seats.

But,
For now we stand surrounded,
by family and friends,
And remember,
how deep love is.

-A.A. @ nyxilotbiscuit

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