Sunday, 2 March 2014

In Memoriam








I know when I open the door
the rooms will be empty, and dusty.
Their dust has long been scattered, washed
from the river into the sea;
there’s just the photo on the wall.
I know that I must turn the key,
yet I stop and raise my hand to knock
as though someone still waits for me.


The streetlamp in front sputters and glows
unsteady in some Morse like code.
A car’s long hand on the horn
skims down from the end of road,
the silence inside screams once, and twice
and then goes into rustling mode.
I turn the knob, the portrait is there
just that it's a bit more yellowed.


The light’s a whisper of the dark -
the frizz of smoke blown from its lips.
Silk thin shadows their edges blurred,
a sunmoonstar in reversed eclipse;
the dust a plume of a lonely search
paused before some rambling scripts
and death’s life with its grim mouth pursed
drumming the silence with fingertips.

















8 comments:

  1. Sorry for your loss. Beautiful poem.

    ReplyDelete
  2. So much sorrow in the lines.
    Well expressed.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Lovely tribute. So sorry for your loss.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Thank you for being here, much appreciated @Alex J.

    Thanks @Kelly Steel

    ReplyDelete

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