Pietà

Standard

Into the church
we few mourners gather
close to the small table
filled with a photo
of a smiling
young man,
a single candle,
and a golden cube.

I did not know him
whose ashes
now lay within
that dark space.

Old friends, his parents,
and so I came
to keep them company.

We pray the sacred
texts, chant the holy
mass to send
his lingering soul
sweeping home
to God,

but his mother weeps
the silent repose
of ancient peace.

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