I Did Not Cry At Your Grave

~ inspired by the falsehood of friendship~

I did not cry at your grave,

I merely stood and stared,

As gloom hung over,

Like drooping petals,

Which sprout from roots parched,

Starved by the intensity of your soiled earth.


I did not cry at your grave,

I merely watched in comprehension,

The illusive tears of blood,

Thicker than water,

Yet just as transparent.


I did not cry at your grave,

I merely engaged in utter indifference,

In the somber gala,

Which culminates us thieves,

Clanking our gold-rimmed goblets,

To the echoing requiem,

Signifying the untimely death,

To an untimely life.



I did not cry at your grave,

I merely giggled at the prospect,

Like water to the boil,

I pitch in tactless irreverence,

At the stepper’s demise,

Now being trampled by unnoticing passer-bys,

Of whom had your feet upon their heads,

As yours bled for the crowing of laurels,

So you shall be buried in them.


I did not cry at your grave,

I merely walked away from the crowd,

The congregation of fools,

Jacks of masquerade,

Disguised in frowned ecstasy,

Marionettes in the grand charade,

Of the death of a true friend.

-by Isaac H. George
The Masked Man
(copyrighted)