Tag Archive | loss

117. Vanilla

The room grows quiet,
the footsteps leave haltingly,
pausing at the door.
Perhaps remembering
words that weren’t said.

Shadows fall tall
on the ground outside.
Leaves drift in a scented breeze.
Vanilla.
A taste of longing so sweet.
A fragrance that pulls
at the heart,
not letting those memories sleep.

The room is quiet.
Even the breath makes no sound.
I strain to hear
the absence of your voice.

©Brindology 2017

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112. Alone, again 

And if I may,
I would like you to sit beside me and read these words slowly,
allowing every thought to float into our space 
and listen with the curiosity of a bygone day. 

My purpose is not of my choosing.
I am drifting like stardust in a vast world,
coming to land at your feet 
with the softest of kisses 
and the blessings of hope. 

Our days are numbered,
counting themselves out second by second,
enveloping time in the forgotten promises we made long ago.

You don’t need to hold my hand,
but I’d love it if you would.
I am alone,
just like you. 

Please hold me as I cry. 

©Brindology & Cassandra Luey 2017
Original image by Cassandra Luey

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103. Broken promises

Your voice filled my mind today. 
Your voice from so very long ago. 
Your voice that once spoke to my heart. 
Your voice that used to say how much you loved me. 

If we met now, would we recognise each other? 
Or would we keep walking past and away without a sorry glimpse into our history? 

Your hair must be grey now. 
There must be wrinkles running deep into your handsome face. 
There must be remnants of that love you once had for me buried somewhere in your heart. 
That love, before it turned into hate. 
That love, before it became someone else’s. 

I can’t say I still love you.
I know, I promised. 
But you broke your promise, too. 

I want to put out the light. 
I want to close my eyes and forget you. 
I want to be sure my heart doesn’t love you anymore. 

©Brindology 2016

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100. Death mask

This is my death mask.
I can no longer see who I am.

She sits beside the water,
Looking down at her reflection.
Fingertips break the stillness of the water.
Her face travels to the edge,
Close to her feet. 

Ripples aren’t always silent.

The flowers fall slowly 
Yet the tree remains standing in the distance.
One moves,
The other does not.
The child goes far,
Beyond the travelling footsteps of the father.

Ripples aren’t always silent. 

The water is still once more.
She turns away from the dark pond,
And looks to the sky.
Merciless sunlight bathes her face.
She struggles to stand.
Pausing,
She breathes deeply,
Resting her hands on the wet soil for comfort.

This is my death mask.
I wish I knew who I’ve been. 

©Brindology 2017

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99. Miscarriage 

And here you stand before me, 
With windswept hair, 
As my dreams go drifting
Through the air, 

You turn away
Without a care, 
And you walk from me 
To who knows where. 

You don’t turn back, 
You don’t catch your breath, 
You don’t stop to wonder why, 
You don’t ask me, 
You don’t answer, 
You don’t stop when I cry. 

Every bridge that you burn, 
Every page that you turn, 
Every moment that never returns, 
Every day I will yearn
For you, 
For you, 
For you, 
For you.

©Brindology 2015 

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Daily prompt: Lovingly

87. Footsteps near the dying 

Be still for a little longer, please. 
Let me walk in the fragrance of your breath
And the shadow of your death;
My footsteps will no longer awaken you,
I promise you.

If I may only remember you for a little while more,
I shall keep a piece of you with me forever, 
Enshrined deep within my heart. 

You never knew how ardently I loved you. 

(Rest in peace, David Bowie.)

©Brindology 2016

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Daily prompt: Exquisite

85. And Death did come

And Death did come today. 

And Death may not bring with him the absence of pain.

And Death may not heed our cries, 
Nor look us in the eye,
But with a scythe so sharpened on the necks of the ones gone before
Remove us from the misery of life. 

And Death may come tomorrow,
No, he most certainly will. 

(In memory of Alan Rickman.)

©Brindology 2016

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Daily prompt: Someday