The Visitation

He was pale, still; though somber laid, ceased

This bed the last his frame would ever know

He rested ignored, forgotten – or at least

What protocol would allow

Like a ghost, hidden in the subconscious, rather than

De facto, recumbent on the wooden berth

In vain endeavor to remind them of his proximal

Motionless remains; to turn them from their mirth

The ceremonious coffin seemed to repel

Rather than lure the scrutiny of the throng

Whispers glided among disoriented human swells

Inartistically massed throughout the chamber room

Chit-chat and muffled chortles, ladies gossiping,

Admiring dresses, couples, anything but that

Compassionate ones embraced the family

And inquired after their predicament

Yet only when by willful act

Of defiance against an unseen force’s

Natural pull would one cross the tract

And bid himself deliberate glance upon the corpse

The younger son stood by – a warm host

To consolating friends – and pointed out to uneducated

Guests his uncles, aunts and cousins most

Like a museum’s hall of statues sculpted

Was this convocation a sigh of relief

More than a somber affliction

That attends agonizing grief?

“We’d been expecting it”

The younger son enlightened the ignorant,

“He’s been sick for some time”

Yes, a sigh of relief and perchance

An ease of hearts tired

He who eternally slept left no legacy

For a family’s bosom to hold,

No honor in this death, just drowning

Pain, or maybe life just got old

The honeyed emollient of drunkenness

Destroyed not only his heart

But, like a disease of despair, infectious

To two young brother’s blossoming start

Detached far across the room

Stood the elder son smiling

With an infant in his arms, he crooned

His fatigued eyes lightening

The innocent babe’s merry cry,

A subconscious hope, wiped away this plight

It enveloped them with a happy sigh

As they clung to the joy of life

Ushered in as a fresh breath

And blotting out the unsaid

Repugnance of this death

Contrasting from his bed