In the solemn silence of my room, a single suit suspends, 

Its shadows cast in creases, where the mourning light bends. 

I dress in drab attire, with a necktie's tight twist, 

For farewell to a face, in life's long list, scarcely missed.

 

Buttons brush against fabric, fastening fears and doubt, 

In the mirror's gaze, a stranger gazes out. 

Treading through the threads of a thinly known tale, 

A procession of pretense, in grief's grim veil.

 

The clock chimes its choral, a time-ticking tear, 

For a soul I scarcely saw, yet today I wear 

Their memory like a mantle, heavy, and unseen, 

In the solemn march of the might-have-been.

 

A cufflink's cold clasp, like a whisper's faint touch, 

Echoes in an empty room, never saying much. 

A polished shoe's step, in a slow, silent dance, 

For a stranger's last scene, life's final chance.

 

Through the streets, in the slow seeping of day, 

I wander with others, in hues of gray. 

In the rhythm of the unknown, we walk, we comply, 

Beneath indifferent stares of an uncaring sky.

 

In the echoes of an unknown goodbye, 

We find the threads of humanity, subtly tied. 

For in the fabric of life, frayed and worn, 

We don our robes, in the world we're born.