Fantasy At A Funeral Poem by skillz thapoet

broken gravestones,
forgotten cemeteries,
pieces of broken hearts,
scattered below withering
lillies,
willows that stare to the
ground,
gullies from falling tears,
scavanging worms reaping
apart cold corpses,
and infront of rust fested
crosses,
a cheap black casket,
below dark umbrellas with
brown handles,
held by weeping velvet
gloves,
before a drunk father,
and a holy book to be read,
amid dark scary clouds,
that ashes for drops rain,
amid that sobre mood,
i see a lady i would never
hurt,
her dry ripped lips bleeding
of pain,
her dilated eye balls tales of
cries,
beneath dirty sheets and
torn blankets,
her dark eyes thunders
received,
flying fists and express kicks,
a plastered arm,
a broken rib,
a heart scathed,
too much for loving the
wrong clown,
yet to me a beauty she
strikes,
in pale flesh agonies of days
perseveared,
and though such a distress
call she be,
to me a spanish melody she
seems,
a lady sweet to make fairy
tales,
a princess i would chase into
raining volcano,
and as we sung in the sweet
by and by,
from hymns photocopied in
white papers,
a farewell bid to brutalies
spoken by none,
i race thoughts to candles
on long stands,
a table for two in dim lights,
and vintage wine from a
sunken ship,
a wish,
a dream,
a fantasy,
a making at dead mens'
ground,
if it were to be,
such a lady warmth would
again feel,
love would again believe in,
never another tear to shed,
never another blow would
hit,
never another cry would she
make,
but that be my horse,
that not even i can ride,
so to this stable it be locked,
as we lay goodbye the man
she had..