no one knew who had died at the funeral
we gathered round the grave
black streams ran down our cheeks
flowers were thrown and wilted instantly
we cried because we didn’t know
I look at the wicker. At the words. I imagine the empty room. The words that will have to be found. The shopping seems heavy in my arms. I will pass the window tomorrow. I will drink the milk and toast the bread.
welll funerals are not good…. really notgood. usually they’re pretty sad. except for death at a funeral that was a pretty funny movie.. went to see it with the family good times. anyway I digress. i have only been to a couple of funerals. wait am I writing again… how did that happen? o well sweet another 60 seconds, yay. umm in running out of ideas on funerals though, kinda lost my train of thought.
I led the funeral procession, ahead of the crowd that gathered for the slain that lay in a box of pine. His last words were: “Please don’t kill me.” I looked at him, unblinking, before I delivered the lethal cut.
He dreaded the funeral most of all. He knew there would be people there, relatives he hadn’t seen in ages, friends, neighbors who could he care less about. All kissing him, telling him they were sorry when all they really thought was, Thank God that isn’t me, or I need to go, I have things to do. He couldn’t stand their fakeness, their pretend tears, and hugs and kisses, The flowers were big and bright to gaudy and the woman all seemd to wear the same cheap perfume.
The funeral was long, and hot. Emma itched at her stockings, dying to take them off. How much longer she thought? She couldn’t stand it another minute, the room was stuffy and smlled funny, like death and flowers mixed. She glanced over at her mother, her body still, her face plastic. Who was that person, she thought? Her mother was never still, always moving, laughing, gesturing. How much longer she thought. She needed to leave, find her mother somewhere else. Be with her, touch her,love her again. The smell was overwhelming, it settled down on her, pushing in her chest, making her unable to breathe. She felt her body rise up, her legs began to move
There are homes for funerals, not where people live, but conversely, where people are taken when they are dead. Usually the funeral, it’s service order and it’s location is the choice of the family, unless the dead have carefully plotted their final farewell whilst still alive, only a few do, out of kindness or narcissism, who knows. I mean, surely what happens after you’re dead, doesn’t really matter to the deceased, unless they believe they will be there to see it.
The best thing about the word ‘funeral’ is the word ‘funereal’, which is a lovely extension.
My father’s funeral was good, the music was good, the minister was fair, just and kind, and there is little more important than being fair, just and kind – in my book.
I am now bored of writing about funerals, earlier in this paragraph I was worried that I wouldn’t have time to write everything I thought about funerals in sixty seconds, now it transpires I don’t have much to say about them at all. A good one is good, and bad one is really bad.
The procession snaked over the hill – stragglers hanging to the sides in plaid and trews – the old man at the front neither looking at the landscape nor chiding the scarum young -at the gate with stone pillars – he halted and stood as the box carried forward to its destination
Sadness that ends as new life begins. It is an end and a beginning, but to what? It is a time to recall and reminisce about the time we had. A time to see old friends and meet new ones. It is social grief at it’s finest. It is a necessary evil that we all must endure and experience. I want mine to be a party! A celebration of my life. A time to see that God is among us and that there is more out there than we can see, hear, tast, and touch.
I’ve been to two funerals in my life. One was for a distant family member whom I barely knew when I was 6. The other was for a neighbor that I barely knew when I was 17. I cried at the neighbors. Maturity.
funeral , that inspires end
but before and end there must be a core and a beginning
so what you think about funeral is basically what you think about the core and the beginning.
too many, always too many. But, somehow life affirming, the relief, the end of the journey the chance to say goodbye sail well, the roses the happy memories, the differences laid to rest.
her eyes seemed red and swollen,
her shoulders hunched, as though she was sobbing.
she buried her face into her palms.
he puts a comforting arm around her.
I REMEMBER GRANDPAS FUNERAL. I DIDN’T MAKE ME FEEL MUCH OF ANYTHING I GUESS I WAS TRYING TO BE STRONG. i DID FEEL EVERYTHING AT JANE’S MOMS FUNERAL. IT MADE ME REMEMBER HOW I MISSED MY GRANDPA AND HOW I COULDN’T IMAGINE WHAT SHE WAS GOING THROUGH WITH MISSING HER MOM. SHE WAS SUCH A STRONG INDIVIDUAL. I MISS JANE. I MISS GRANDPA. I WISH LOSS WASN’T SUCH AN INTEGRAL PART OF LIFE. BUT WHO AM I TO DECIDE SUCH MATTERS.
Sarah walked through the cemetary. She had just attended her sister’s funeral. She wore her black, knee-length skirt, the same one she had worn to her mother’s funeral three years prior. Her sister was all she had had left, and now she was gone.
Sarah looked at the bright sky, hoping to feel a sense of renewal, a sense of faith But all she felt was loneliness.
Sarah walked through the cemetery. She had just attended her sister’s funeral. She was wearing a black suit; the same one she had been wearing to her mother’s funeral five years ago.
After their mother passed away, Sarah and her sister only had each other
But now Sarah was all alone.
Without her mother; without her sister.
This funeral marked the first day of an entirely new chapter in her life.
I hate funerals, though in my life time I believe that I went to at lease twenty , those of my parents and some friends.It is an occasion that you do not find pleasure in attending.
It’s dark and lonely when you watch everyone mourn a loved one. You never felt like they were really there at all but at the same time you feel as though they’ll never leave you. And you’re trapped in that sorrow until they chose to release you.
there was a funeral going on at the local cemetary. it was a warm day with a slight breeze in the air. michael macdingdong was walking briskly along the road trying not to be seen. sticking out his pocket was a gun.
when people die others just cry and weep and bask in their own sorrow, but why is it that they sooner or later just forget anyway. i wonder if the people who die want to be remembered wanted to be greater, at least hoped they could be.
When I die my funeral is going to be a big party. Everyone will wear their favourite going out clothes and there will be a good band to play music.
No one will say sad speeches or do anything official. Everyone will just dance and have fun. I don’t want people to cry or feel sad or anything.
dead people, i dont like to go to funeral, make people sad and people are usually sad
im not american and i work in a resturant, and a couple of times i worked to a funeral lunch
all those people hanging out together after a funeral
how weird is it?i believe it is pretty weird. Ill never go in a public place after the loss of a friend, or relatives….but whatever culture is culture, and i can understand. Lil weird tho. Funerals are bad, sad and not-needed. Even tho it is the course life follows….
She walks into the room
not knowing what to expect
Silence overcomes the place
a tear comes streaming down her delicate face
the air is still as the room slowly falls ill
succumbing to the emotions
seeping from the orphan’s
now malleable exterior
because she is left
with no superior
its time to say goodbye. a time to reflect on the persons life. how happy they were. the great things thatt they did
i really think it should be ahappy time
but also a sad one
sating goodbte to people is hard
flowers
tears
sadness
a casket
but also happiness
colour
family
coming together and being together
having a party after
rejoicing in their life and seeing what they have acheived.
death makes me sad. i remember how sad it was when i first thought about death it made me so scared and i never wanted to die. until my grandparents died then i saw death and it was fucked so yeah death is shitty but then you go to the funeral and you see the dead body and its dead like legit dead and you dont even realize the persons dead until you see the body.
i’ve been to many more than i care to admit. and i’ve seen more death than i deserve. someday i’ll have one of my own and until that day i should try to do as much as possible with the life i have because it is fleeting. who knows what tomorrow will bring but it’s not guaranteed
His eyes were closed and no one was quite sure what to say. “I miss you.” The only words I could think to say at that moment, but I knew they weren’t enough. The phrases had the ring of missing the good moments, but I missed them all.
The funeral she attended was not a funeral itself. But it was the event before it. The man with the golden heart who had raised her, taught her love of the planet, taught her to be strong, passed away in front of all who loved him most. She missed him before he was gone. She wouldn’t make it to his funeral, and she always wish she could have.
The day of my father’s funeral was unusually stormy, wild winds ruled the city and lightening and thunder were the only sounds to be heard, giving me the confirmation I needed that he was still here, we just couldn’t see him.
Funeral. Sadness. Loss. Despair. These are the words that come to mind when people think of a funeral. But I look at it as a celebration…a celebration of yet another soul that broke free from the shangles of the body, the prison that confined them. They can now fly free and embrace their desires.
sad music. there was sad music I’m sure. But i don’t really remember all i remember is feeling a great nothing. I knew I was sad, sure. But it was such a great sadness that I had numbed out the exactness of it, and turned into an emotional-zombie I guess.
The oak was standing alone, now. Only ash fell from the sky. The forest now a graveyard. And the skeletal trees now stood twisted in a simulacrum of misery. A funeral for nature. The beasts cried, and the flowers were nowhere to be found.
no one knew who had died at the funeral
we gathered round the grave
black streams ran down our cheeks
flowers were thrown and wilted instantly
we cried because we didn’t know
I look at the wicker. At the words. I imagine the empty room. The words that will have to be found. The shopping seems heavy in my arms. I will pass the window tomorrow. I will drink the milk and toast the bread.
welll funerals are not good…. really notgood. usually they’re pretty sad. except for death at a funeral that was a pretty funny movie.. went to see it with the family good times. anyway I digress. i have only been to a couple of funerals. wait am I writing again… how did that happen? o well sweet another 60 seconds, yay. umm in running out of ideas on funerals though, kinda lost my train of thought.
I led the funeral procession, ahead of the crowd that gathered for the slain that lay in a box of pine. His last words were: “Please don’t kill me.” I looked at him, unblinking, before I delivered the lethal cut.
death is a time when a gathering of black clad living people rehearse their crying for the next act they hope to accomplish poles in cream.
Family members, friends, black, ties, finger food, uncomfortable clothes, condolences, shaking hands, tears, crumpled faced, shaking, missing, longing, sadness,
He dreaded the funeral most of all. He knew there would be people there, relatives he hadn’t seen in ages, friends, neighbors who could he care less about. All kissing him, telling him they were sorry when all they really thought was, Thank God that isn’t me, or I need to go, I have things to do. He couldn’t stand their fakeness, their pretend tears, and hugs and kisses, The flowers were big and bright to gaudy and the woman all seemd to wear the same cheap perfume.
Very sad, painful time, sorrow for family, depressing, feel of loss to one, One does not know what do to at this time, denial,
The funeral was long, and hot. Emma itched at her stockings, dying to take them off. How much longer she thought? She couldn’t stand it another minute, the room was stuffy and smlled funny, like death and flowers mixed. She glanced over at her mother, her body still, her face plastic. Who was that person, she thought? Her mother was never still, always moving, laughing, gesturing. How much longer she thought. She needed to leave, find her mother somewhere else. Be with her, touch her,love her again. The smell was overwhelming, it settled down on her, pushing in her chest, making her unable to breathe. She felt her body rise up, her legs began to move
There are homes for funerals, not where people live, but conversely, where people are taken when they are dead. Usually the funeral, it’s service order and it’s location is the choice of the family, unless the dead have carefully plotted their final farewell whilst still alive, only a few do, out of kindness or narcissism, who knows. I mean, surely what happens after you’re dead, doesn’t really matter to the deceased, unless they believe they will be there to see it.
The best thing about the word ‘funeral’ is the word ‘funereal’, which is a lovely extension.
My father’s funeral was good, the music was good, the minister was fair, just and kind, and there is little more important than being fair, just and kind – in my book.
I am now bored of writing about funerals, earlier in this paragraph I was worried that I wouldn’t have time to write everything I thought about funerals in sixty seconds, now it transpires I don’t have much to say about them at all. A good one is good, and bad one is really bad.
The procession snaked over the hill – stragglers hanging to the sides in plaid and trews – the old man at the front neither looking at the landscape nor chiding the scarum young -at the gate with stone pillars – he halted and stood as the box carried forward to its destination
Sadness that ends as new life begins. It is an end and a beginning, but to what? It is a time to recall and reminisce about the time we had. A time to see old friends and meet new ones. It is social grief at it’s finest. It is a necessary evil that we all must endure and experience. I want mine to be a party! A celebration of my life. A time to see that God is among us and that there is more out there than we can see, hear, tast, and touch.
I’ve been to two funerals in my life. One was for a distant family member whom I barely knew when I was 6. The other was for a neighbor that I barely knew when I was 17. I cried at the neighbors. Maturity.
funeral , that inspires end
but before and end there must be a core and a beginning
so what you think about funeral is basically what you think about the core and the beginning.
too many, always too many. But, somehow life affirming, the relief, the end of the journey the chance to say goodbye sail well, the roses the happy memories, the differences laid to rest.
her eyes seemed red and swollen,
her shoulders hunched, as though she was sobbing.
she buried her face into her palms.
he puts a comforting arm around her.
with her hands covering her face,
she smiles.
I REMEMBER GRANDPAS FUNERAL. I DIDN’T MAKE ME FEEL MUCH OF ANYTHING I GUESS I WAS TRYING TO BE STRONG. i DID FEEL EVERYTHING AT JANE’S MOMS FUNERAL. IT MADE ME REMEMBER HOW I MISSED MY GRANDPA AND HOW I COULDN’T IMAGINE WHAT SHE WAS GOING THROUGH WITH MISSING HER MOM. SHE WAS SUCH A STRONG INDIVIDUAL. I MISS JANE. I MISS GRANDPA. I WISH LOSS WASN’T SUCH AN INTEGRAL PART OF LIFE. BUT WHO AM I TO DECIDE SUCH MATTERS.
Sarah walked through the cemetary. She had just attended her sister’s funeral. She wore her black, knee-length skirt, the same one she had worn to her mother’s funeral three years prior. Her sister was all she had had left, and now she was gone.
Sarah looked at the bright sky, hoping to feel a sense of renewal, a sense of faith But all she felt was loneliness.
Sarah walked through the cemetery. She had just attended her sister’s funeral. She was wearing a black suit; the same one she had been wearing to her mother’s funeral five years ago.
After their mother passed away, Sarah and her sister only had each other
But now Sarah was all alone.
Without her mother; without her sister.
This funeral marked the first day of an entirely new chapter in her life.
I hate funerals, though in my life time I believe that I went to at lease twenty , those of my parents and some friends.It is an occasion that you do not find pleasure in attending.
It’s dark and lonely when you watch everyone mourn a loved one. You never felt like they were really there at all but at the same time you feel as though they’ll never leave you. And you’re trapped in that sorrow until they chose to release you.
When you came into my life you buried my feelings… and allowed me to live again.
there was a funeral going on at the local cemetary. it was a warm day with a slight breeze in the air. michael macdingdong was walking briskly along the road trying not to be seen. sticking out his pocket was a gun.
when people die others just cry and weep and bask in their own sorrow, but why is it that they sooner or later just forget anyway. i wonder if the people who die want to be remembered wanted to be greater, at least hoped they could be.
When I die my funeral is going to be a big party. Everyone will wear their favourite going out clothes and there will be a good band to play music.
No one will say sad speeches or do anything official. Everyone will just dance and have fun. I don’t want people to cry or feel sad or anything.
dead people, i dont like to go to funeral, make people sad and people are usually sad
im not american and i work in a resturant, and a couple of times i worked to a funeral lunch
all those people hanging out together after a funeral
how weird is it?i believe it is pretty weird. Ill never go in a public place after the loss of a friend, or relatives….but whatever culture is culture, and i can understand. Lil weird tho. Funerals are bad, sad and not-needed. Even tho it is the course life follows….
She walks into the room
not knowing what to expect
Silence overcomes the place
a tear comes streaming down her delicate face
the air is still as the room slowly falls ill
succumbing to the emotions
seeping from the orphan’s
now malleable exterior
because she is left
with no superior
its time to say goodbye. a time to reflect on the persons life. how happy they were. the great things thatt they did
i really think it should be ahappy time
but also a sad one
sating goodbte to people is hard
flowers
tears
sadness
a casket
but also happiness
colour
family
coming together and being together
having a party after
rejoicing in their life and seeing what they have acheived.
sad. dark and black. someone has died whether it’s a person or an animal. i haven’t been to many funerals, but they seem awkward. a lot of people cry.
death makes me sad. i remember how sad it was when i first thought about death it made me so scared and i never wanted to die. until my grandparents died then i saw death and it was fucked so yeah death is shitty but then you go to the funeral and you see the dead body and its dead like legit dead and you dont even realize the persons dead until you see the body.
i’ve been to many more than i care to admit. and i’ve seen more death than i deserve. someday i’ll have one of my own and until that day i should try to do as much as possible with the life i have because it is fleeting. who knows what tomorrow will bring but it’s not guaranteed
My grandfather. An amazing man. Tears and stories, memories and happiness, granny and wine……
i miss you grandpa
RIP
His eyes were closed and no one was quite sure what to say. “I miss you.” The only words I could think to say at that moment, but I knew they weren’t enough. The phrases had the ring of missing the good moments, but I missed them all.
Five caskets sat in a row. One hundred guests stood in line. The preacher said a lonely prayer. No one smiled, but no one cried.
The funeral she attended was not a funeral itself. But it was the event before it. The man with the golden heart who had raised her, taught her love of the planet, taught her to be strong, passed away in front of all who loved him most. She missed him before he was gone. She wouldn’t make it to his funeral, and she always wish she could have.
Death. It seemed to become a new member of the family. This new addition, coupled with the fresh subtraction ensured things would never be the same.
The day of my father’s funeral was unusually stormy, wild winds ruled the city and lightening and thunder were the only sounds to be heard, giving me the confirmation I needed that he was still here, we just couldn’t see him.
Funeral. Sadness. Loss. Despair. These are the words that come to mind when people think of a funeral. But I look at it as a celebration…a celebration of yet another soul that broke free from the shangles of the body, the prison that confined them. They can now fly free and embrace their desires.
sad music. there was sad music I’m sure. But i don’t really remember all i remember is feeling a great nothing. I knew I was sad, sure. But it was such a great sadness that I had numbed out the exactness of it, and turned into an emotional-zombie I guess.
The oak was standing alone, now. Only ash fell from the sky. The forest now a graveyard. And the skeletal trees now stood twisted in a simulacrum of misery. A funeral for nature. The beasts cried, and the flowers were nowhere to be found.