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David Rumer

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Member Since: Jul, 2003

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Widow's Weeds
by David Rumer
Thursday, July 17, 2003

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           >> View all 21

A villanelle is always a challenge.

  Widow's Weeds


What came to silently intrude
the fitful interlude she slept?
The deathly sound of solitude.


With all her thoughts aimed to elude
this thing her soul could not accept,
what came to silently intrude?


Try as she might, withdraw, seclude;
on silent wings of grief, in swept
the deathly sound of solitude.


As others' kindness would allude;
now in God's hands forever kept,
what came to silently intrude?


At last her being could conclude
she'd conquer everything, except
the deathly sound of solitude.


His absence left her bare, subdued,
as uncontrollably she wept.
What came to silently intrude?
The deathly sound of solitude.


                    David Rumer


 


 


 


  

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Reviewed by Lois Christensen 8/7/2008
I do wear widow's weeds for a year now. Solitude is hard to live with. Trying to be on den as therapy, it does help. This is a sad poem but true. **********
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