Death With Its Funeral Shoes

There are no phrases
meaningful….delicate
whispering from my soul.

Speech, hard, angry
yells from my center.
Death with its funeral shoes
has walked across my spirit.

Why now? Why so many?
Don’t tell me God called
and they went willingly!

If I am not given more
than I can bear,
why am I lying prostrate
upon the rug of my misery?

Death stop visiting,
place no more black ribbons
on my door!
I am sick of roses
lying wilted on a grave.

Peace where are you?
I am tired of residing
in obituary’s hell.

© Copyright Susie Clevenger 2011