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Too Late

Flowers, flowers, everywhere;

moving right, petals; sliding left, petals.

Crowds of people, faces weary.

I hear the people, loving words for me,

But all I can offer is the silence of me.

I witness the love pouring from them; 

Where was it all when I needed a single gem?

Loud voices calling out my name; 

I wonder why nothing feels the same...

Seeing them gather, I ponder: 

Why did they wait until I could hear no longer?

 As things move forward, 

I struggle to make a movement, 

And I realise, 

It was my funeral. 

~Zara M.

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