Wish you were here

#1

Once in a room filled with nothing but death, laid a man of pallor skin.
Upon a bed of silk, he laid, eyes not staring back.
A scar or two on his head, where his helmet kissed the ground.
Time to cover all the mirrors, no one wants a ghost around.

Over his bed a family stood, no one making a sound;
Except for a tear, splashing against the ground.
Wanting to block out the grey, they silently turned around;
Sulking back out the door, with a girl who didn't make a sound.

Zooming past the other bikes, he couldn't make a sound.
Scraping along the asphalt now, his bike dragging behind him.
People crying out in fear, as two bodies become still.

One with alcohol in his system, the other with a pulverised brain.

A false report is issued, and now everyone is in an uproar;
Stating that the wife's husband had alcohol in his system.

The children are upset, for they knew he didn't drink and drive;
And the other family is sorry, yet they lost someone too.

Sitting on plastic chairs, up on a mountain;
Dressed in black and navy, everyone is quiet.
Pink Floyd blaring in the background, making the family cry;
Walking up to the stand, with a piece of paper in her hand.

Speaking words of love and friendship, the mother takes the lead;
Her husband's mother is sitting at the front, not saying a word.
The children come up, the eldest taking the lead;

He says a full paragraph, she says a sentence.

A gang of bikes going down the road, revving outside the house as a sign of farewell.
In the hearse the man is carried, all the way to the burial ground.
Lying on belts, suspended in the air;

Being lowered into the ground, where there is no air.

White lilies on the coffin, flowers being thrown on top.
Once the final rose had fallen, dirt was being poured.

Upon the coffin there laid flowers covered in dirt;

A digger came by and started shovelling up the dirt.
No longer would they see the face that lit up their world;

They were fatherless, husbandless and down one child.
But the family keeps his spirit alive every day when they look upon photos and go down to his grave.

A/N: This is actually about my dad and I wrote it for an internal we are doing in English and the topic I chose was up close and personal and this is based on my experiences from when I was only six years old. So, if you are uncomfortable with the topic this is, that's okay because not everyone has the stomach for death and all that sorta stuff. This is just MY experience.