In the midst of thunderous gale.
A noose is loosened.
Dislodged from a ceiling.
Where the lead is chipping and peeling.
Stones, previously marked with similar name.
A pastime of clientele hanging on shame.
The obliged have always wondered.
Can you cremate pain?
Thus, hold onto dignified days,
and their remains.
A participant of curiosity’s oddity.
I, too, have queried…
What remains of the day?
All the protocol that stands in the way.