Funerals Are Strange To Me Poem by Alex Rose

Funerals are strange to me

Stunning the significance of a man no longer

The bonds of his family in his absence grow stronger.

Without a doubt, he will be missed

But during his time on Earth, he seemed to have less relevance.

His body charred like the limbs of that old oak tree

Yet ironically, he too left a seed.

With no doubt, he'll grow up great and right

But how will his roots be afflicted with no paternal light?

The day he fell ill, I read all 46

But where was I to be found way-back-when, him hungry for fix?

Hardly concerned.

But here I am, filled to the brim with discern.

So once more, here I am before the idea of a man

That meanwhile soars, far apart from this land.

Born to run, is what I keep hearing

Yet to me, this title just isn't appealing.

In my eyes 'Died to Fly' seems much more suitable,

Either way, his impressing significance remains irrefutable.