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Bethaney Hall Poem
Flowers, once rich with colors of reds and yellows,
Now bloom with petals of gray.
Birds keep to themselves their sweet songs of praise as they dwell in the comfort of their branched homes.
The air seems to hold certain heaviness,
A thick sense of gloom and sedation,
As the sun neglects to rise from her slumber.
Clouds linger beneath her, holding within them the night before, providing a soft bed for her rest.
She dreams in lush greens
As she is lulled deeper from the soft songs of a new and bright day.
Copyright © Bethaney Hall | Year Posted 2015
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Bethaney Hall Poem
How strange it is,
The things we do,
When our loved ones are lost and gone.
From death,
Or after utter heartbreak,
Our lives are changed and our worlds lost.
We catch ourselves gazing through lonely windows longer,
Waiting and daydreaming for them to appear
With eyes that make this house a home
Staring right back at us.
We search for their familiar faces in crowds of a hundred or more,
Full of strangers brushing and passing by,
Feeling a senseless hope we will catch their glance
Among the crowd of unknown expressions.
We jump at the ring of a phone,
Our hearts racing with hopeless confidence that it must be them
Coming back to life,
Or coming back home.
We long to sleep more, even deeper,
For in our unconscious minds is where they spend their days the most,
Where they are the most real.
Forever we miss the ones we love,
The ones we lost,
In these days they only dwell inside us,
Even long after they have left.
Copyright © Bethaney Hall | Year Posted 2015
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Details |
Bethaney Hall Poem
Death, but an old lover, always seems to find his way
Back within your sheets in the middle of lonely nights.
As you feel your body regress, his sharp presence becomes all too familiar:
It is inviting; it is sensual; it is an addiction that will never go away.
“I will love you for eternity, darling, and will never let you go.”
His poisonous words are promising,
And you think to accept them all too soon, once again.
“But I must fight,” you try to convince yourself.
You must fight the comfort of his promises,
The chill of his bearing that stings your sensitive skin.
The sun rises, and he slowly vanishes into the warmth of a new day.
You can feel your bones strengthen with the rising beat of your heart.
But his body stains your sheets,
And you know his sweet promise will forever cling to you each passing day:
“I will love you forever, darling, and will never let you go.”
Copyright © Bethaney Hall | Year Posted 2015
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