deepundergroundpoetry.com
Holding up the Torch
constellations of stars
shining into her window
colouring her grey hair
light shiny silver
her old eyes in deeper hues
waiting forsaken behind closed doors
scents of lavender
permeates through the air
old fingers of memories
brushing through her thoughts
whispers of kisses on her lips
smelling of tobacco and sins
skirts sweeping the floor
she walks in silence
not disturbing the dusts
just displacing the air
as she waits
waits and waits
for her traveller
long gone but coming home
as he promised
she holds on the torch
with fingers of hope...
Published 31st Oct 2015
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Anonymous
31st Oct 2015 2:15pm
Conjures up an old Carol Burnett sketch where a young woman sit on the porch through seasons after seasons, awaiting a lover who never came back.
31st Oct 2015 2:52pm
A similar picture was my inspiration. I can imagine the long wait and the loneliness of this waiting woman...:) thank you scooter for reading,
31st Oct 2015 5:52pm
This reminds me a little of Miss Havisham in "Great Expectations," but this is more far more delicate than grotesque. Excellent work Grace!
31st Oct 2015 11:15pm
I read that book in Lit class, high school.:) interesting story that and the greed of Pip.:) Thanks for reading Crowfly. Honoured.
