Sunday, November 16th, 2008 | Author: stuart

on the bed pale and grey
whispering her life away.
sheets pulled high
keeping the cool breeze at bay.
they told me once that in her youth
beauty beyond compare, and that it
was that beauty which purchased the
house with the garden in which she now reclines.
there is nothing left now of that beauty as
on the bed, pale and grey
she whispers her life away.
the light turns and fades, setting with
a lack of fanfare that seems to suit
the withering body basking in its dying rays.
slipping into slumbering dusk she
mimics the day and the whispering stops.
none can tell of what she has become
as you stand by the garden wall.
sometimes you think that
the whispering comes anew, but in the garden
of the house that her beauty bought
she is to be seen no more
curtains drawn in eternal dusk.
whispering to the shadows, whispering in shades
of grey and somber melancholy,
whispering the day away
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Category: Poetry
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