the death of a life is ritual
Whether it be natural or murder
the smiles of the child
stained with the pain
of exposure
the journey upon
the plains of the afterlife
sort of a ritualistic
religious way to avoid strife
we can only truly celebrate
the life after the death
can only sing to our hearts content
with the last breath
so to speak of rituals
and their definite truths
would not olny betrayal
but expose our last bit of youth
wisdom-filled piece, Melissa, with insight beyond your years. best care ~sjg
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
ps- you inspired the latest forum post/poem, with this.