Death Wake
By: Wayne Brown
In the old funeral parlor, dimly lit shadows loom
An open coffin, death in view; sadness in the room
The last hour of a wake reached up on the old clock
The undertaker gone home; the front door locked
A soul in lonely silence sits in a nearby rocking chair
Sittin’ up with the dead; the only living thing here
His presence near the coffin guarding the eternal sleeper
A night of solitude spent contemplating the Grim Reaper
The creaking of floor planks sound as the chair doth rock
Matching sound for sound with the ticking of the old clock
The night hours will pass ever so eerily and so very slow
This watch cannot end until the morning sun’s glow
A mouse runs across the floor casting shadows in the light
The rocking chair comes to a stop, the watcher feels the fright
A shy glance at the coffin checking the departed one’s space
Wondering if another soul could be lingering in this place
The time it passes away so slow marked by the clock’s tick
The senses filled with fear; the mind plays its mental tricks
A bump here, a click there, the dead man does not mind
But the living one sweats each minute, all his fears aligned
The first ray of morning breaks way over window frame
The night has finally past and fear has been its name
And now the undertaker arrives to open up the door’s lock
The living one no long a prisoner of death or the clock
The departed one’s coffin will move on to its eternal place
The living one will go on with life just surviving the rat race
Until one day the Reaper calls and collects his mortal take
The living one then becomes the departed at yet another wake
© Copyright WBrown2010. All Rights Reserved.
