Futile Funeral Poem by Jessica Stubbs
Futile Funeral
Futile funeral
Full of feverish people
wanting out of the doors
Don't want to deal with their ever increasing sores
'What's the point? ' They ask
All in their masks
Drinking from their flasks
Trying to drink away the pain
Acting like they care
Acting like they have good thoughts to share
They just want to leave
And let that body rot
In the ground of the others that have been forgot
What a pity
A Futile Funeral it is
Yes indeed
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 4:05:59 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Many people throng at funerals, not all with equal grief. Some do just as a matter of courtesy. At the end of the day, few mourn from heart as the demised goes into oblivion by and by.... Yet, I think, the people who make time to gather at the funerals deserve thanks. Going through the long comments of Bri Edwards was interesting. Not sure if he deliberately prolonged his comments.