Black Umbrellas

Bag pipes
bleed sadness
into the air,
everyone walks
tragically slow
heads held low
concentrating
on the black road,
roses shall be thrown
one by one
dreams become
handfuls of dirt
to be tossed on
a shiny wooden box below
tears water the ground,
the sun hides behind
black clouds
threatening never
to show itself again
and why should it?
the bleakness
the emptiness
flourish in
the dark
that becomes us.