Furious Grief
Feeling his absence from her side
each day dark as night one could barely abide,
a bundle of rags shivered and cried.
Deaf to the sound
of tears tumbling down
from her furnace of furious grief.
Tidal waves of pain
were all that remained
on the altar of no relief.
Haunting the Doorway
Haunted by the host of memories
moving in to occupy his space,
she remembers the look of a pair of eyes
no longer owned by his soul.
With death in the depths her own eyes close,
as her past burns to the ground.
Disintegrating into lifelessness,
her love now but a ghostly sound
haunting the doorway
to the worn and wooden bones
of her memories.
Summoning his soul from the depths of hereafter
causes layers of loss to weigh down her voice.
Through quicksand under the soles of her shoes,
she treks in the dark world circling his death,
carrying the burden of bitterness
from the iron thorn in her side.
Heart slamming, will crumbling,
she fades to a wretched mass
grasping for a bygone life
on the horizon of darkness
where hurting souls drift in the wake of great loss.
As she languishes in the deepest parts
of the Shadowman’s world,
she feels oddly, finally at home.
Ash takes the place
of someone beautiful.
The thinker is without thought.
While assuaging the memory
of his touch she questions,
will it be the final time
her heart is slain
by the ghostly shadow of love?
Though frantic heartbeats
wreak havoc,
she fights to stay strong
on her own.
Dark Wreckage
While walking under evening stars
embedded in a film of ice,
watching satellites pinging Mars
through the plasma of time and space,
she passes through eternities
of shattering silence, displaced
into the abyss.
Demons and specter ravage
these nocturnal visions
drawn from the dark wreckage
of her sad and lonely soul.
She can smell the violence rendering
to piles of smoke and ash,
emotions of love and loss,
like a burning pile of trash.
She stumbles back to empty rooms
swallowed by night’s fall.
She stares at warped reflections
of the pallid moonlit walls.
Through her windows
of ice sharded glass
the dawn is a hairline fracture
for the lonely, widowed lass.
Pearly Mist
Causing a commotion of crackling twigs,
the wind gusted up from the woods,
across a forest of broken branches.
Peering through opaque glass
at a wintry garden,
she lifted her face to the light
of a rosy, winter sunset.
A pearly mist floated
through open lattices,
pungent with spicy smells
of wood smoke,
as cold air from open windows
chilled her breasts
and seeped through the soles
of her shoes
while the silence
of stone and oak closed
with cold fingers
around her world of death.
