Felicitations upon her birth, on a card
signed with no name,
The voices within her head, in every played
childhood game,
Upon the day that she wed, the soft words
within her ear,
The warning, the soft messages that only
she could hear.
The footsteps, echoing through the cold
& midnight halls,
Whisperings softly calling, from cracked,
peeling old walls,
Chills shivering, through blood & down
fragile spinal bone,
The strange feeling that lingers, of not
being entirely alone.
Feelings of lost pasts, disappearing within
the icy black hole,
The old echoing of nuances, lingering
softly around her soul,
The cold hand upon her shoulder, making her
knees go weak,
The soft touch of a finger, brushing her sweet
innocent cheek.
The still breathing of curtains, wafting on
the moonlit breeze,
The coughing of summer leaves, from uneasy
dancing trees,
And upon her ageing old deathbed, she met
that being at last,
Lifting her to Nirvana, he said to her,
“Hasn’t life gone by so fast?”
No comments:
Post a Comment