The Funeral: Grave Diggers

I was buried not long ago, 

Without much fan or fare, 

Few lips that prayed a requiem low, 

Few anecdotes to share,

I had in mind a different scene, 

Oft in dreams I dreamt, 

Few limericks for what I'd been, 

To inveigle and to tempt,

Shrouded in a regal way, 

And a countenance to match, 

Emotions running high, astray, 

A mournful lovely batch,

But alas! It dawned on me, 

Brought forth a lonely tear, 

The world that we now touch and see, 

Is the very one we fear,

We love those who would never care, 

In earnest bits of heart and soul, 

Sleepless nights, Into darkness stare, 

On fragile hearts, memories toll.

My Masterpiece

On parchments fine, 
In vain I try, 
To build in verse a masterpiece, 
My very own last supper in rhyme, 
A futile attempt to reason, 
With words of mine,tainted, 
Hollow and bare, 
Shamelessly hers to claim, 
That clings to a fond memory, 
That my pinings conjure, 
As blooms to a long lost spring, 
A relic of affluence, 
Still painfully fragrant, 
In acrostics I try to spell her name, 
Only to deceive my own intentions, 
To put to order emotions mine, 
And I get lost amidst, 
Her tresses and my words.