take me somewhere nice

This is my funeral.
Whats forgotten?
The candles, the cake, happy pictures, what else?
something else is missing.
something is missing from this thick air
from this small, barely filled room.
No one knows but me,
but none of these false friendships remember my voice,
all that are heard are the murmurs of unworthy condolances.
if someone would listen to me,
if someone would lean into my casket and put their ear to my lips,
they would hear me whisper.
they would hear me whisper a time, a god.
they would hear me whisper a place, a body.
they would hear me whisper a face, a name.
once.
not twice, but once.
and then I would ask them to open my eyes.
let me see the world again,
like I always should,
before I'm cremated.
Open my eyes to what I have whispered,
so I can feel a tear in my eye one more time,
but never let it fall down my cold cheek.
If someone would lean into my casket,
and look closely at my face, my hair,
they would see that I only coloured my hair a few times in my life,
once before I died.
They would see I had a small scar above my right eye from when I was just a babe,
just new to this painful world.
they would see the stains on my face from the times I had cried.
Times that I had whispered my tears to sleep.
and if what I whispered would come back to my lips,
I would maybe feel the kiss it left there on my pale lips.
and if it floated back to me,
maybe it would whisper my name, my time, my god.
This is my funeral.
I no longer know anything or anyone,
but souls recognize nothing in this croud.
I see no smiles, I see no tears.
Both would be here,
if this was really MY funeral...

But this is not my funeral.
I whisper the life of he who is now laying in the casket,
his dead eyes covered with powdered flesh and eye colour,
trying to preserve the life that left his body two days ago,
but none hear his name,
nor remember it,
only their own sobs.
all that is seen are tears of the living,
nought of the dead.
nought of the forgotten god, time, face, place, body, name.
I go to the casket,
but dare not lean into it,
for fear that he might whisper my name


if a dream came to you one day
while you stood gazing at beauty in all it's grace,
and it told you that this would be the last thing you would ever see,
would you blink?

if a voice came upon the air and reached your ears
while you listened to your heart in rapture,
and the voice screamed for help,
would you stop listening?

if the light broke through the clouds
while you stood with a broken heart in the street,
would you raise your face to the sun?

if your greatest opportunity came in the middle of the night,
while you slept from a long day of work and labour,
would you wake up?

if you understood what you would give for yourself,
if you understood what risks you were willing to take
for a world of uncertainty,
do you think the world would applaud you?