deepundergroundpoetry.com
Render to Him
dusts on window panes
dim light shining through
finger written words
smeared on glass
waiting in echoing silence
he stands on nonexistent floor
bogged down with memories
of a happier past
where's my baby girl
my arms are empty
where's my beloved
with the crimson lips
there is no one home
the fading sunset
shines on nobody
he stands there
his feet sinking
into rotting floor...
render to him
what belongs to him
render to fate
what belongs to destiny.
dim light shining through
finger written words
smeared on glass
waiting in echoing silence
he stands on nonexistent floor
bogged down with memories
of a happier past
where's my baby girl
my arms are empty
where's my beloved
with the crimson lips
there is no one home
the fading sunset
shines on nobody
he stands there
his feet sinking
into rotting floor...
render to him
what belongs to him
render to fate
what belongs to destiny.
Published 19th Apr 2015
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19th Apr 2015 5:19pm
This seems like a prodigal father at long last returned home. "Where's my baby girl?" Probably grown and gone. This strikes me as a ghost story, in a sense. Excellent work, Grace.
20th Apr 2015 5:13am
It is a ghost story in a way. When someone waits full of love for a child or a beloved, he becomes mere shadow of himself.:) thanks for reading Crowfly.
Anonymous
20th Apr 2015 8:31am
Beautifully haunted poem, last stanza is very powerful
20th Apr 2015 9:49am
Anonymous
2nd May 2015 1:57pm
As the old saying goes, "you painted a picture with your words." I can see this. A beautiful display of sorrow.
