by Margaret C. Rigsby
I do not like
to see dead bodies.
Lying there
in ornamental
caskets
with little pillows
under their heads.
They no longer breath
yet look asleep.
Touch their hand,
it is so cold.
Their body is dressed
in finery,
the room with bouquets
of every imaginable sort.
I tell myself
I will not cry - but the sobs
I cannot restrain.
This shell of a person
lying here
once breathed, loved, laughed.
They will put them under
six feet of filthy dirt
the decay will
in time
leave only a flesh-less carcass.
People will cry, some won’t care.
Memories will fade - even
for those who loved them.
Little things, we try to remember
we will forget.
I do not like
to see dead bodies.
They remind me
that another one is gone.
One day we will all be a body,
dead and lifeless.
I do not like
to see dead bodies.
The only
comfort I know
is that the soul lives on.
© All rights reserved {Revised 3/13/2002}