PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The cold breeze rushed through my body as I stared ahead. I knew people were all around me but I felt alone. The building stood there proud and tall, sending a warm welcome message to anyone who would view or enter it. But somehow, I couldn't feel it. It was more of a message saying I should be ashamed of myself, which was what I certainly felt as I entered the magnificent doorway with my father.

    Flowers and candles were littered everywhere, my eyes wondered around the room as my body guided me to my seat next to my mother. She was talking to an old friend of hers and dad had found a distressed work colleague. Slow music was being played at the front of the building by an organ. I listened into both conversations whilst still looking at anything and everything. warm gleaming lights were hanging down off the walls, stained glass windows were shining the images of the Lord and the Virgin Mother. I was looking out the door that I'd just strolled through and saw more flowers ontop of the coffin. A warm tear instantly ran down my left cheek as I kept looking at it. People were carrying the wooden box out of the car whilst immediate family watched on with red, swollen eyes. A sharp smell of Sandalwood reached my senses as I sniffed. Softly blinking I watched the priest walk into the room with a red book. The bible had never meant anything to me, even though I was brought up to worship it. But right then I was resisting to get off my seat and shove one of the burning flames onto the pages, showing pain and anger for what God had taken away.

    I watched my godparents enter the Church. You could see the love between them wrap itself around them, guarding them from the damage they really felt, even if it was for only a few moments. Their children and grandchildren all had a coldness to them. I blinked hard and felt another tear roll down my right cheek.



The ceremony started with hymns and prayers, which I barely took any notice of. All I was thinking about was the last time I had seen her. Christmas was such a happy time for me - but so much had changed since. My boyfriend had broke up with me, I had grown to argue with my parents more, and now, this!

    I felt so hurt inside that I couldn't hear the ceremony anymore. Looking on, I could hear her voice, feel her hugs, see her face. It scared me, but I was okay. I wanted to hear more, feel more, see more. I wanted all my memories of her back to the front of my head, and the rest pushed aside. It was amazing how light headed I felt when I came back. Everyone was sitting down and the coffin was being brought out of the building. The soft, slow music was playing once again and I suddenly felt that I was losing it. My father guided me out and I cried to the car. Everyone saw me and knew I was wounded. I could also see that they knew the scar wouldn't leave. People were standing around talking, some cars were being driven out of the car park. People had been wounded before. I was ashamed at the ceremony for making people feel this way.

    Once again I found myself staring at the building with the cold breeze rushing past. The welcome message turned into a goodbye. Yes, goodbye...and good riddence!