It's the one thing I can't rehearse
The final act where I have no lines
Or watch the audience in the isles
Complain of my performance in the role
And sneer derision that he looks so old
All powdered up and decked in mould
For one day they'll stand at their own curtains end
Being chewed by the flowers of their final applause
So long to the critics I can't hear you judge
Your despondent analysis of my really great lead
The only lead I ever had
In a role that I was born to play
In a role that I was born uncertain
Sitting there won't be so lonely
All cushioned up in velvet lining
Draped in mahogany chesterfield sachet
Escorted somewhere near the Hamptons
I'll be lead by strong men in maître d' form
Perhaps a young splendor will pass me a glance
While I'm indisposed to my own private table
Starring with thoughts that can't see conclusion
They'll be other occupants arranged in their seats
No one will see the others fatigue
Celebrating forever at our retire leisure
In a Funeral for one
And party that's just begun
hmm, very interesting. it has, what seems to be, a double meaning.
Kevin, what a brilliant write - though somewhat morbid. As you must know that death is always a morbid thought. No one wants to face it. And it's hard to get people to even speak of it. But this is a very thought-provoking piece. It's a sober thought of the inevitable that is to come for each of us. Thank you for making me think.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I can just picture this scene. This is great. I have had a lot of experience as a Funeral Director and I have been to so many beautiful celebrations of life Thanks for sharing.