PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

By Peter Christopher Raymond

Copyright 2011

She was the last thing I had to look forward to

Yet not even she knew my pleasures were so few

I still drop in as if on cue searching for some residue

Some last remains and lasting stains of the strains of her voice

Her honeyed tone and her spirit have flown

An empty case and not a trace of her delicate embrace

Shadows of her hallowed presence and gentle essence

Memory fading and rapid degrading of her rich soulful shading

Sorrow's invading as tears are cascading

Her subtle motions, graceful ways and gaze of her eyes memorized

Loving displays and thoughful praise from a heart now darkened

She lightened my load when her laughter exploded

The rich romace of her smile's expanse as wide eyes mystify

Her luminous smiles and my dubious denial

My efforts paled and I failed as I tried to regale her with my art

My cemetery of empty gestures where best intentions fall apart

In empty houses where nothing arouses the slightest joy

Skeletal remains, everlasting pain and all hope drained

Shattered glass panes, bitter disdain... nothing to be gained

Allow me to sense and silken texture of her palms

The emotions of her touches would spawn which wearily live on

She's gone and life is anxious and grave