Grandmother, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Grandmother

The carpet of demure colors was soft,
It deadened the sound of people’s voices.
The air was jungle thick, it made me cough.
To exit was not one of my choices.

Floral arrangements were both big and small.
Over powering was the lilies scent,
They like trumpeters guarding, standing tall.
Had a feeling Gabriel was present.

Before the open ornate box I knelt,
Thinking if I didn’t look it wasn’t real.
Turmoil, wasn’t really sure how I felt,
Immobile, to cry I was unable.

Whatever possessed me to touch her hand?
No longer soft, now it is hard and cold.
Looking at death I did not understand,
But that dark feeling I will always hold.