Funeral: The Quiet Of Real

For once I leave my mask
At home, on its shelf of my necessity
My eyes are somber, though no tears fall
As I quietly ponder the harrowing brevity

Of life,
And the days that you could not keep
Now just a reason for mourning,
And a call for us to weep

I am struck, as I always seem to be
By the pervading stillness of mood
As if the parlor which cradles your body
And the building itself are somehow subdued

In the quiet of one last moment
I brush my lips to your face
I am caught in the breathtaking silence
That even the organ dares not efface

In the background, like the children of shadows
I can see the grief-veiled wraiths
Your mother's tears with trailing stains
Etching your epitaph upon her face

For an instant, I meet her eyes
And the touch of our souls is a thing I can feel
Perhaps it's because, just for today
We've abandoned our roles and choose to be real

Trailing down the carpet-hushed hallway
And I consider that it's fitting
This absolute weight of sedate solemnity
To honor this life which was no less than flitting

Pondering, I know, and my heart agrees:
I am thankful my mask stayed behind
We must indulge, in the quietness of real
For something so forever as a final goodbye.