Who are you that cannot be free?
Plastic flowers in vases give presence to the recently departed.
This is the pretense of life.
Cold stone is bare and flat, while a gate creaks and cracks.
Everything dissolves.
No tributes to be found, no homages to lives lived , only those to lives lost.
Trappings to keep them in this world.
Packaged like dolls - perfect and still - only after the agony of the end.
Boxes fence in our souls.
"Loving husband, father" and that's all he was to anybody, we see.
Epitaphs betray us to strangers.
Yet... away from here - away from the shallow Christian values,
detached from rites clung to by those who can never live -
I see a sweet magnolia and smile, for she grows free.
And I live.
This is the pretense of life.
Cold stone is bare and flat, while a gate creaks and cracks.
Everything dissolves.
No tributes to be found, no homages to lives lived , only those to lives lost.
Trappings to keep them in this world.
Packaged like dolls - perfect and still - only after the agony of the end.
Boxes fence in our souls.
"Loving husband, father" and that's all he was to anybody, we see.
Epitaphs betray us to strangers.
Yet... away from here - away from the shallow Christian values,
detached from rites clung to by those who can never live -
I see a sweet magnolia and smile, for she grows free.
And I live.