They burried him with honor.
Flags and shinning trumpets.
Silence is all I hear from where I stand.
Another fallen hero.
Another weeping widdow.
All the color and honor due.
But I cannot see the snappy uniform.
The well done arrangements.
Its the peace I see in the musical movements.
Every step had to be well planned.
For one mistake and the whole image would crack.
Hidden wiping of eyes.
White roses on a cherry coffin.
The last kiss goodbye.
Taps.
The feeling of watching someone private life.
The strange remorse I cannot place.
I close my eyes.
I know these images,
The funeral dance, the beauty of consistancy.
Ten feet away, and behind a building,
another ceremony starts as this one ends.
The same honor.
Do those involved,
the leaders of the dance,
the musicians.
Do they feel the extinguishing of the light.
Do they know the end of a dance for someone?
Or is it just another parlor trick turned.
Another moment,
like so many mundane ones we take,
that get us through the day.
Just more ordered.
Dance this dance, we all witness.
Soon we witness as a particapent.
