Work Text:
opposing forces
People in black clothes,
the air hangs heavy and dark,
as grief rolls down our face.
And we listen to the words,
their echo shallow in my head as I try to grasp their meaning.
It’s so dark I don’t dare to reach for the hope in my pocket.
These walls of old and heavy stone.
Ashes are white, aren’t they?
Burned, dark and sturdy wood.
As we step outside, I see the world covered in thick, white fog, wrapping us in careful silence and reverence.
Tunes out everything there is to it.
The white frost sparkling wonderfully, escorts our way.
I can’t feel the cold.
The sand – lumpy in my hands
The petals – light and airy.
“That’s it”, I think.
The thought heavy in my throat.
And I stare like there’s anything I can do.
Can feel it, soft in my pocket.
We dry our faces with white tissues.