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Requiem
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Old Where bells and whistles ring
They gather in opportune mounds
With mourning routinely displayed at the sound.
Cleanly attaching a hand to their hearts
And eyelids angled towards the ground.
To sing the solemn hymn as masses fallen
With inability to see the piece as whole.
Knowing only the following lonely line.
This homely rhyme that leaves some holes in time
But always presses forth with absolute-like force.
And soon the moon is set.
They finish up the chorus left
And none can hear the virtuoso voice of Joyce
Or the earth-rattling baritone of Bob Malone.
Somewhere it all blended into middle moans
And you could see the requiem bring all of them to cry
As they commuted home to fill the gaps inside.
The passion of a city died...
