Whispers

Suppose and this is just supposing,
though it is a supposition of the highest order,
I were to die tomorrow

A roar denoting silence?
At work, if tradition is the dictate,
something eulogistic would find itself being said.

I am more calm.
I perceive their layers more shrilly.
Past the lipservice
and shocked surprise,
whispers, rumours and
the grapevine would bruit
around a different legacy.

And the open bier?
An embrassassment.
What more could be left unsaid?

Paul Cameron Brown The copyright of the poems published here are belong to their poets. Internetpoem.com is a non-profit poetry portal. All information in here has been published only for educational and informational purposes.