Upon reading a poem about a funeral

I was inspired to write this poem after coming across several poems about funerals in a relatively short space of time. I was struck by their shear mundaneness and almost ordered emotion that resonated with my constricted English upbringing and contrasted with the passion of life a death I had experienced whilst traveling in so-called poorer countries.

After writing the first draft, I revisited some of the funeral poems and realised that many were actually pretty good. But my inaccurate impression is caught here.

Upon reading a poem about a funeral.

I see the funeral described;
the petty detail that hides,
the Crushing Seas.-
He was your Father.

Upon acceptance, upon hate,
upon indifferance, upon fate,
the air that stops you falling,
and upon a loss to come.-
But what would you have felt
if you could fly.

And did you love him?
If so, how?
Or were you cut off with the tide
when you, with clever words, describe
view; narrowed in upon a pin
stuck in a jacket lapel.
Were you bewildered so,
you did significance bestow
on such a tiny, shiny thing that well
conscribed your introspection,
or was it just a crutch to catch your eyes
as you listened to the practiced lies
of a minister's deception.
Stretch Out your Vision,
Howl and Cry,
'till you Comprehend
the Bones
that were your Father.