Deaths Quota Flying High

Kurt Philip Behm

The flowers all have scattered,

borrowed feelings shout aloud

 

Mock funeral of celebration,

grief false beneath their shrouds

 

The mourning congregation,

to the tavern marched in step

 

A ruse to the departed,

with each toast his memory wept

 

His friends then hugged his enemies,

his wife and girlfriend kissed

 

Through the glass a raven watches,

taking names without a miss

 

As ‘last call’ is shouted boldly,

and all glasses drained of lies

 

Two wings beat out a roll call,

—death’s quota flying high

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: September, 2016)

 

  • Author: Kurt Philip Behm (Offline Offline)
  • Published: September 10th, 2016 19:03
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 27
  • Users favorite of this poem: Augustus
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Comments +

Comments1

  • Augustus

    I take it many were not unhappy to see him go and the Raven took note. Enjoyed. Nice ant tight. Told a story. Had a rhythmical flow. Created lots of visual imagery. Teaches a lot.

    • Kurt Philip Behm

      Thanks Augustus. The Raven is taking note of their insincerity,
      false grief and mourning.



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