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English Language essay - Funeral

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English Language essay - Funeral I gaze around. I see one family, brought together, to mourn for one of our own. Countless numbers of dark figures stand on parade, speaking in unison to pay our respects to one whom we adore. The sadness corrupts my inner soul and my heart bleeds a river inside. Nothing could change the wretchedness I feel. We leave, what seems to me, not a holy church, but more of a devil's palace. But the worst is yet to come. Still shedding tears I climb into the hearse, my eyes fixed upon the noble man in the back, in the vain hope that there would be life in him once again. It is useless. I stare outside in the deepest of depression, worrying about the road that lies ahead of us. The road spirals through the Welsh mountains and through the vast fields of my homeland. ...read more.


The agony is not over. We repeat the event again and again, and I hope that one of these obstacles obstructs us. Our car reduces speed and the driver climbs out. I think to myself, "This is no gate". A gate would be an astonishing gift to me right now. The only thing I can do now is pray and hope. To pray that I will not have to go through this anguish, suffering and endless hell once again. In one sudden movement, my hopes and dreams are crushed into minute pieces of terror and misery, as the hearse driver opens the door. Resistance is pointless. We are already here. A foot away from the gates of fire. I push open the gate upon its rusty hinges. Though, I know, cemeteries are supposed to be depressing and solemn places, this is out of the ordinary. I am welcomed by an old, decrepit yet elegant chapel, that has been abused by weather and man, but preserved and decorated by Mother Nature. ...read more.


I trudge up the strenuous, steep slope where beds of orchids grow, their heads nodding in the sway of the wind. I arch my back, and a strong syrupy scent inflates my lungs. I extend my weary head and glance over a wall, which overlooks the town. The peaceful town of Dolgellau. I turn my head once again to the graveyard. This to me is a paradise. A place where people came to be at peace and re-united with their families. An imaginative sepulchral nirvana. I dash over to the solemn funereal procession that gathers round his resting place. I burst my way to the front line, in time to see his body placed delicately into the sacred earth, and the scent of freshly dug soil surrounds us. My burning eyes gaze impassively upon the tombstone, and I read a name that will echo through the ages. Robert Gwylym Lewis-Jones I have sailed from my last harbour, with God's mighty right hand supporting me. In God I trust, and in his golden dawn I will drop anchor. 'Islow Dref'- The place above the town. ...read more.

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