Last Rites

Image credit:  el lobo

Image credit: el lobo

Whispering over me
Something that I heard
In their rush of misery
Cloying, clammy hands
All these dreams and plans
Spilling like rose petals on this bed
Someone giving last rites
Repeating in my head

The shadows lengthen every hour
I’ve watched them hover here
A stranger stands just to my left
Dressed in black and ribbon white
I might have even died of fright
When solemn eyes capture every gaze
Flickering left and right
Floating in this haze

A parade of familial mourners
Practising their grief
I’m not gone yet I might tell them
If they ever ventured close to hear
Perhaps its just the time of year
And they are gathered as a throng
I hear last rites and realise
I no longer belong
I hear last rites, I’m flying
And my soul is but a song

(c) Helen Valentina 2015, All Rights Reserved

About Helen

I'm drawn to blogging as a way to share ideas and consider what makes us who we are. Whether it's in our working life or our creativity, expression is a means to connect.
This entry was posted in Air, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Last Rites

  1. hocuspocus13 says:

    Reblogged this on hocuspocus13 and commented:
    jinxx ♣ xoxo

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s