its a whole sea of faces
some familiar ones scattered among the throng of white shirts
but largely they were strangers
people you could simply walk past on the streets without batting an eyelid.
in the background the band played on
i couldnt quite place my finger on what tunes it was suppose to me
neither mournful nor jovial
simply marching sounds i guess
of the trumpet blarring out every other instrument in the tiny old band.
literally
the muscians together with their instruments looked as though they had been many places.
intertwined with the vaguely musical sound
the smell of incense filled the air
with that tinge of nicotine from cigarettes hanging loosely from the lips of many.

another death,
another funeral.
stare blankly at the coloured photograph simling at all the faces gathered round
mechanically i bow
feeling like a low down hypocrite
as voices in my head scream out and call me names that i know i deserve.

on some of the alien faces, eyes colour as tears begin to fall
and i wish i could just disappear and fade away into the distance
i dont belong.
but yet the thick cords of responsibility family and respect had called me here
and i knew that this was the right thing to do.

will i miss the man of few words in the arm chair?
the greeting on the face i see once a year?
perhaps?
but probably not.

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