Everyone is wearing black.

Black dresses, black suits, black jackets,

All huddled around one coffin.

The coffin itself is dark oak,

The color of bitter coffee,

And overturned dirt.

The only bright spot in the room,

Is the vase of flowers.

Daisies and white roses,

Brighter than Death’s pearly teeth,

Grinning down at the funeral.

I crouch down,

To tie my black shoelaces,

On my black shoes.

By the time I stand back up,

The coffin’s lid is closed,

Sealing away the poor soul.

Next thing I know,

The graveyard sprouts up,

Clouds blanket the sky,

Grayer than the dead grass.

**Grayer than the tombstones,**

That go on and on and on,

Each indistinguishable,

From the one next to it.

That dark brown coffin,

The color of your deep brown eyes,

Is gone.

Your soul,

Brighter than those daisies,

Is gone.

I’m left here,

Lost and fumbling,

In this all consuming,

Black.