Homework 27/7 (for Bob...finally!): Final Moments
Posted: Thu Jul 23, 2015 5:02 pm
Final Moments
Her bones, hunched tight against the bed,
are framed in funnelled light that’s bled
through shuttered blinds against a wall,
a silhouette to mark her fall.
The silence doesn’t know her name,
and visitors who never came
to ease those decades of despair
left silent footsteps on the stair.
She gazes at dead memories
when childhood’s lazy fantasies
gave hope of love, a great romance,
a long, slow waltz in life’s sweet dance.
A photograph in black and white
illuminates the darkest night…
her dress of silk, a dazzling smile,
the youth beside her in the aisle.
A flop-haired boy with awkward hands
that fired a gun in distant lands,
and somewhere clutch the dank, cold earth,
with no-one left to mourn his worth.
So loneliness walked by her side
through city streets where people hide
as strangers in the public mind…
invisible, for we are blind.
She paced her days with cups of tea
and soaps that flickered on TV,
while sunlight falling on her face
was all she knew of warmth’s embrace.
The neighbours gossiped near her door,
while shouting children laughed and swore
on landings as they ran and played,
as she, like smoke, began to fade.
They did not see the Reaper’s crime,
the liquid flesh devoured by time,
the gases rupture parchment skin,
the process of decay begin.
Her final moments passed them by,
ignored by all, for those who die
alone, unknown, it seems we say
are just rag dolls to throw away.
David 23/7/15
Her bones, hunched tight against the bed,
are framed in funnelled light that’s bled
through shuttered blinds against a wall,
a silhouette to mark her fall.
The silence doesn’t know her name,
and visitors who never came
to ease those decades of despair
left silent footsteps on the stair.
She gazes at dead memories
when childhood’s lazy fantasies
gave hope of love, a great romance,
a long, slow waltz in life’s sweet dance.
A photograph in black and white
illuminates the darkest night…
her dress of silk, a dazzling smile,
the youth beside her in the aisle.
A flop-haired boy with awkward hands
that fired a gun in distant lands,
and somewhere clutch the dank, cold earth,
with no-one left to mourn his worth.
So loneliness walked by her side
through city streets where people hide
as strangers in the public mind…
invisible, for we are blind.
She paced her days with cups of tea
and soaps that flickered on TV,
while sunlight falling on her face
was all she knew of warmth’s embrace.
The neighbours gossiped near her door,
while shouting children laughed and swore
on landings as they ran and played,
as she, like smoke, began to fade.
They did not see the Reaper’s crime,
the liquid flesh devoured by time,
the gases rupture parchment skin,
the process of decay begin.
Her final moments passed them by,
ignored by all, for those who die
alone, unknown, it seems we say
are just rag dolls to throw away.
David 23/7/15
So many poems and such varied content and every one of them good.