The sleek mahogany drifted past, held by the solemn frowns on hardened faces

The crowd, locked grim without a tear, stood in honor

Stood without honor

Stood because the press was watching

The breeze held reminders

Held whispers of rumors of fault

The life within, dark as the pit below

The life within, bright blue in death

The life within, built on nothing but the blood of those buried around him

The ground, strewn thick with cement blocks, shuddered

A life unworthy lowered into its bowls to the sound of silence