I won't say the words
I can feel it on my tongue,
words scraping past the grooves.
The last ones you sung,
before the reaper took your moves,
before the tunes turned dark,
before the silence moved in,
before the extinguishing of your spark,
and the loneliness felt within.
I can feel those words true,
cooling to a windless chill.
The last ones sung by you,
their meaning frozen still.
I can feel it on my tongue,
scraping past the grooves.
The last words you sung,
before you stopped your moves.
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Author:
Maplespal (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 15th, 2024 16:25
- Comment from author about the poem: Music and the memories kept close.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 14
- Users favorite of this poem: Gloria Denise
Offline)
Comments3
Haunting and sad
The multisensorial nature of memory clear here in a rich tribute just long enough and complete unto itself.
Before the reaper took your moves
Wow, they explain so much with such a simple metaphor and maybe we all gotta go through it so it applies everywhere every day really nice.way to extend a point
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