Mostly We Are Obits Poem by Benjamin Chiu Uy

Mostly We Are Obits

Mostly we are called,
One day soon, one evening,

It was one solitary evening after the thirtieth,
when the lone man with his grim hammers,

Stroked your heart,
Afterwards,
confided the noting attendant,
"Can someoneattests what happened here? "

The rest is the deceased history's
Here lies someone anonymous,
The pleasure, the sins,
the unknown trials,
the anonymous gaits
with the ghost he's fighting,

The inveigled man,
His atrocious greeds and dominance,

subjected to abrupt silence,
The man in his equitable final settlements
with peace as a corpse with theunknown,