Fuss

I came to visit.
Not with the blaring of trumpets,
And chanting of angelic gospels
Not with prayers, whiskey, and blood
Offered, for safe passage, and return
Not in the midst of hustle,
Or the twisting of bodies in bustle,

I was not greeted with the bluest skies,
Or summer breezes in August suffocation
There was not the smiling faces, or
The fuss I had so dreaded.

All was still-
Somber, silence, and muffled hushes
I who had dreaded all the fuss,
The universe delivered;
I wish it had picked someone else