He died yesterday afternoon.
But today the Sun still rose, unconcerned,
For what care should it have,
Being witness to so many departing Souls.
The Church Clock still chimes,
For time does not stop,
Not even a hesitation in respect.
The traffic still moves along like Clockwork Mice,
Unknowing -his Home a blur -nothing more.
The TV Soap will not stop for a lost viewer,
The Stories roll on regardless.
And the Clothes hang with a pityful air,
Echoes of warm blood from Room to Room.
The Neighbours will look to see his Shadow fall along the dusty road;
The Old Cane, the brown Tweed jacket,
And the stride of his step, purposeful with intent.
But there's nothing but the Street standing
Like an Ellipsis Mark.
They are not here - Except in Memories ledger.
-
Author:
Kevin Hulme (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 7th, 2026 20:04
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 12
Offline)
Comments2
How insignificant we all are. Even the famous die and soon are forgotten. We leave our marks that soon erode and life goes on. A great poem that seems a tribute of melting ice. Nicely worded and imaged it speaks to our brief existence.
Thank you. I remember when my Father died I sat on a bench near a Road and just watched the Cars passing and thought: The World still moves on unawares. Thank you for your Comments.
You are most welcome Kevin
Fantastic work.
Thank you.
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