What Was Left

I never saw once the soft tint of her eyes.

She could barely hold up what was left.

Stark and gracelessly bereft.

Her perfectly formed life of skies.

Drips of drops fell off petals gold.

Thin and misted flowers in dusk.

Left in dusty, crusted husk.

Heart still beating, hands still cold.

Torrential rain beat on the concrete

As sounds became silent crying

Whispers were louder than lying

Her soul couldn’t stay complete

I saw the crumbling, hard decay

But stared in humble thought

At the heart she stopped and caught

As she slowly, simply, faded away


About pasameerday

I haven't got a lot of time to keep you interested, so I'll be quick. I'm a writer from the UK, primarily of fantasy and sci-fi short stories, and occasionally of strange, nonsensical poetry. I like cats, the Sims, and pizza, and I go to sleep to the sound of a keyboard. I've been writing for my entire life; to be honest, I don't think I could ever bring myself to stop. I have a feeling I'm losing you, so I'll bring this to an end before you slowly start to back up, hoping I'll stop talking long enough for you to make a quick getaway. Wait... Where are you going? Hey! Wait! ... Stop!!
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One Response to What Was Left

  1. Drew says:

    I’m glad i found this blog.
    I hate haiku – but I love your structured rhyming verse.. I’m going to follow your blog.
    Happy April to you.

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