The twisted hallways,
that her thoughts made
were sources of illness,
she knew;
Miracles ceased to happen
with the last of his words,
echoing within gestures
she later saw;
Singing of bleak hopes
she hands her dreams
to the light that follows
her destiny;
Delivering justice to all
but none to carry her flame
she cries hard and gives up
at his grave.
—
Prompted @ OSI , Sunday Whirl wordle
Sad, and lovely…such a great combination. I love the hints of Lady Liberty in the piece. Well crafted.
Another brilliant verse from your stable… ๐
This is a powerful Wordle. Also, very sad.
The first four lines struck me hard. I fall prey to this more times than I should at my age. You have created a sympathetic character, one easy to like and feel pity for and framed her within an interesting story.
Beautiful, poignant words.
A feeling of ‘loss’ expressed so well within the poem.
a haunting poem. visceral. I’m sad now.
Sad and beautiful poem. Sometimes the loss of someone dear to you can extinguish the dream.
Yes, Lady N, when ones life mate has subcombed to whatever calls for his/her death there may be no one to carry ones flame anymore.
You have nicely written the process in accepting that loss.
..
Very sad and definitive. I would like to believe that miracles don’t end. Very nice poem
Sad!!
Very expressive…
This reminds me of times that I’ve cried over losses. I’ve never though been one to visit grave sites. Not being close to them is a good excuse. But the pillow case is stained with tears, as rain is on head stones… sigh.