Beautiful Mournings
Do you object
to beautiful mournings?
The path to the
cemetery with stones and
roses. Do you like
the fumes from open graves?
Who are you to
whine and complain? You’re dead.
The rotten sun
is the cook of your skin.
Nature’s gift for
one and all. Keep your dead
eye on the sky.
Watch the flowers bloom as
your stench
perfumes the collapsed trees.
The flies buzz on
not worrying of health.
Their stinking breath
worsens in summertime.
In this world the
babbling mouths speak and shout.
The dead man sleeps
soundly and with such ease.
About the Author: Born in Mexico, Luis lives in California and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles, CA. His poetry has appeared online and in print over the years. His poetry has appeared in Blue Collar Review, Kendra Steiner Editions, Mad Swirl, Pygmy Forest Press, Red Fez Publications, Unlikely Stories, Yellow Mama Magazine, and ZYX.
More by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal:
Image Credit: Caspar David Friedrich “Graveyard Under Snow” (1826) Public Domain
As It Ought To Be 
