eerily silent now the morbid night
wherein once your voice resonated
no laughter nor weeping now echoes
upon prophetic chill of autumn breeze
a steadfast harbinger of drifted snow
soon to swathe dark, motionless cradle
where your hushed voice no longer sings
and beloved hands lie folded, stilled
blessed and cursed be this thing
named “memory” haunting dreams
imprisoning thoughts like criminals
in a penitentiary of perpetual pain
ache of remembering your touch
agony of a torturous “nevermore”
this eternal enemy and friend “death”
we guiltily long for, yet shrink from
and so I will play for your ears only
a final lullaby, before winter winds
waft away with them, russet leaves
that graciously decorate your bed
a classical nocturne in minor key
native american or irish folk song?
and will you hear the breath of music
as it sighs on the strings of my heart?
Oh! those that can remember a lullaby...oh! those that have heard just one lullaby......a sad poem an yet, tender, caring, telling of an ethereal caress floating just there, only for you.
'For your ears only a final lullaby'
The coldness didn't bring a chill
But dropped a tear.
Superbly written as all you write and post for us to read.
Many "Thanks -you's" that never got put into reviews.
a most beautiful emotion
LOVE...cast upon the essence of death
the loss of love...the finality of it's grievousness
we are all sorrowers in the loss...or the lost...
It is very good to be back under your spell.
My father passed away in January, and my experience is that one doesn't grieve either parent until both are gone. So death is dealing with me now. I should write to you of how.
They were muscians- the photo is haunting, the lines are magical, thanks for being you.
This is a sentimental and epic story about a young man, injured in the Viewnam War, who returns to Dallas, Texas, in 1964, and begins rebuilding his life. Set against the rock and roll era of the early 1960’s, when casual sex and recreational drugs w
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Regis
fee
Carole~
Georg
The coldness didn't bring a chill
But dropped a tear.
Superbly written as all you write and post for us to read.
Many "Thanks -you's" that never got put into reviews.
DWB
LOVE...cast upon the essence of death
the loss of love...the finality of it's grievousness
we are all sorrowers in the loss...or the lost...
A haunting threnody in tribute to lost love, lost opportunity; simply beautiful, "classical nocturne in minor key"
John
So sad and yet so perfect. Always, Paul.
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla. :(
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :D
Cheers,
Dan
My father passed away in January, and my experience is that one doesn't grieve either parent until both are gone. So death is dealing with me now. I should write to you of how.
They were muscians- the photo is haunting, the lines are magical, thanks for being you.
John