Lazarus, Lost

Slowly, making their way to the front of the room
My family wavers and fishtails like a kite in the wind
Reeled in on a translucent line with narrowing passes
One by one, they land on the kneeler to pay their respects

A flower, to the altar floor, falls. Without grace
Or sound, or purpose, or understanding of why it must
Painted pigments fail when hiding soullessness
Just as our tears and sighs won’t raise it up

My father turned his head away from desperate eyes
So I looked straight and tried to make sense of it alone
And held her hand in church because it was something i could
Hold. Realizing it, and everything, must slip away

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