She wept diamond tears
that froze in the stillness of winter.
Some things never change,
decay fighting decay.
Weak knees and time locked vision;
It is long past her time of grieving
they say,
ignorant of the real pulse lasting;
decay fighting decay.
She kneels at carved, regal stone
to feel the needlepoint pain, alone,
but never alone,
she murmurs a prayer
for him who could not stay.
Around him a dozen red petals
–translucent skin–
decay fighting decay.
They found her face down
on his side of the bed,
broken
fragile china doll
s h a t t e r e d
Little lungs at a loss for life.
silence
The silent echo of loss,
Decay
I would love to hear your thoughts on this poem because it is another one of my less personal ones and more sad ones. I wrote this in class today( Confession, as I do with most of my poems) but this is a rather short ad to the point poem.What are your thoughts?
-Eva M. M.
” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”
