Tuesday Poem: “Today, your house is cold”
Oct
22
2013
Today, your house is cold,
the coffee bitter.
Old leaves scatter,
skeletons beneath a ragged sky.
A call –
late night voicemail
blinking from an unlit room –
told me
that you were dying
………….asked me to come soon,
or not at all.
There is no map
………….to chart this ocean,
no pilot star.
I walk outside,
tip dregs
………….onto drifted leaves
.
© Helen Lowe
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About The Poem:
I always feel that poems, in the end, have to speak for themselves. I shall let this one do just that.
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Comments
Nicely done, with no further words are needed. Cheers.
Thanks, Alicia–I’m glad it speaks for itself.:)
It does indeed speak for itself – strongly!
Hugs to you Helen. hope all is well
“Well enough” to quote Miss Austen — I hope the same applies on your side of the world.