Post Mortem
Helen Boitoult
Form 4W
Footsteps echo on a stone floor
A cold slab meets them
On it cold eyes stare at nothing
But death
Warm tears touch a soft cheek
The veiled head nods
As a strong arm grips her
To stop the fall
In the box, he seems to smile
In his sleep
But wise men know of the trick
He plays
The door closes on the scene
Outside is life
At least for other humans
She exists
What good is life with him gone?
She asks herself
The coppery moon shines down in answer
No good
She sits in her lonely room
And he in his
Both are empty inside
They mourn
But as night wears on
They are one
As she is carried away
To him
Thoughtful Helen. You have a good sense of rhythmic control. I think you could have omitted the last verse. The poem is more realistic and moving without it.
I was a real melodrama queen back in those days.
All these early works are reproduced entirely as originally written, and with teacher comments where they exist, good or bad. Probably of no interest to anyone but myself, but preserved here nonetheless. Just because.
