In the misty dawn,
at the abyss of my dream
limbs shudder,
charred pleas in ebony.
Seedlings lie in state,
interred by ash.
Plundered by flame,
the earth crackles for foolish men
and soft rain begins to fall,
her tears for grandeur lost.
Death
Night’s Visitor
Death waits patiently
leans in close,
hand on sweat glistened brow.
Nostrils flare in and out
release short puffs of damp air
while lips part to blow soft spittle foam.
As pupils grow darker still
she lifts her head mightily
then settles into pungent straw
muscles still, reined no more.
Loss
NaPoWriMo April 25. Without Prompt.
Loss
Eyes droop heavy
tear salt encrusted lashes
stare forward unseeing.
Throat gags trying to escape
the cloying flower scent
preserved in artificial cold air.
Silent screams inaudible
smothered in the cacophony
of shushing hushing voices.
Hands folded, cold
should be warm in mine
swinging down our lane.
Comprehension dawns
sun shines out of synch
with the ending of our days.
The Drawer
I didn’t know
it would make memories rollout
like that twirling lottery cage
that stops and releases balls as you
hold your breath and hope for magic.
She died
and left me to create the magic
sorting through a junk drawer
stuffed and crammed
with years of tuckaways.
From the Depths
NaPoWriMo Day 14: write a poem that includes or is a dialogue and potentially expresses two points of view
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She sits alone, staring quietly
as tears slowly fall, untouched.
Hands in lap, formless and limp
speak emptiness into the wind.
Shoulders sag, spine slumps
the image of despair.
Her loss, once unimaginable
signals unending tomorrows without.
Uninvited, somewhere from within
the whisper comes, there are angels nearby.
lillian the home poet 