Some held a mass at her grave.
Petals strewn on the mild lave.
Granite-rose a gray façade,
Interred within where she strode.
A feast of inclusion frescoes on the base relief.
Some held sprays dabbing eyes,
Faux fantasies & sorrowful byes.
Some held her in and prayed for their grief,
Clutching filthsome divots-
Clumps of glass moldered tears wandering ash.
Witticisms escaping lips- smiles twisted,
A dissonance consigned to the riddle.
Her desertion – her ranging from them all,
The self- flying free from her angry vexing pall.
Nineteen, copyright ©2017 Aria Ligi The Australian Times