We speak in whispers.
Concern.
The dead hanging over us
like laundry on a line.
We're closed in rooms.
Fear.
Affairs are to be handled.
Money to change hands.
We are silent.
Paranoia.
Family our enemies.
While the newly dead weep
in heaven
greed works its magic.
4 comments:
So I think that this is vague, but maybe the idea comes across. I don't really know.
This is not vague at all. My grandmother passed away nearly 3 years ago and there's still an argument over my grandmother's will. I think you set the scene here beautifully. Greed really does overshadow someone's passing and it sickens me.
Thanks for the vote of confidence. This is really just me being annoyed and bummed out and as you say sickened.
I agree with Brent: this is far from vague. The movement from concern, to fear, to paranoia is vividly catalogued with the accompanying images. Your emotions are at the forefront here, and the poem resonates with your sickened disgust with your current state of affairs. Wishing you all my best, bud.
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