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The Shrine
February 3, 2010
The shrine was such a sorrowful piece of art,
a deathplace for loved ones, an end but not a start.
For when the funeral came, in the shrine the corpse would lay,
and when the pyres went a-flame, there the shrine would stay.
And then the town would heave and sob just to reminisce,
over the death of a loved one when grief would slowly turn to bliss.
They'd finally stop and realize this death was meant to be,
but never in my wildest dreams would I think in the shrine was me.
© Anonymous
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