Funeral Suit

Like clothes out to dry on a dark stormy day,

and the chills that are felt while alone late at night...

something is haunting.

It wakes during nightmares and stalks every daydream.

Religion is as it deems,

but how love only seems.

The doctor pronounced the grave news today.

I see death ahead as she waits in the hay.

Heartbreak has littered the bloodlines corrupting the soul.

There are no cells to breathe:

no pulse to keep whole.

It's a tragic occurrence...

death struck by love

while her funeral suit fits like a glove.

-Hannah Schoeneman