Flowers and Corpses (A Villanelle)

The pastel rooms are disturbingly calm,
Even the paintings are vertigo sweet.
There’s flowers and corpses. Unlikely balm.

Whey-faced attendants with rictus aplomb
Cluster like crows among cars and the street.
The pastel rooms are disturbingly calm

And hush. The lilies lean in for the psalm
Still has clarity. When families meet,
There’s flowers and corpses. (Unlikely balm.)

Still we grip petals of hope in the palm,
Resolute in thrall of flesh yielding heat.
The pastel rooms are disturbingly calm,

They wear too much perfume. The music, Brahms,
doesn't soothe, all is rouged but incomplete.
There’s flowers and corpses. Unlikely balm.

The day, much like death, slips endlessly on
In each tick of time and click of heartbeat.
The pastel rooms are disturbingly calm.
There’s flowers and corpses. Unlikely balm.