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Aug 18, 2013
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Death
It creeps,
The slow caress.
Fingers.
The false dark deads the hands.
The cold.
It fades,
The light draws a shadow
Voices become whispers
The soul's mind to eternity
I am.
I am no more.
His hand grips firm
My name murmered
in the stilling silence
The turmoil quiets
The icey chasm opens
The last beat
Entombed in the silent Void.
Neha 2013/08/18
About This Poem
Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft
Comments
Rula
12 years 1 month ago
Neha
Interesting how we always think of death almost the same.
For me the last stanza was quite enough. It really stands for the poem.
Thanks for sharing.
Geezer
12 years 1 month ago
I like...
this one! I have a little trouble with the line that goes: "The false dark, deads the hands." Maybe you might say:
The false dark grips the hands? Other than that one little bobble I thought it very well written and the theme came through very nicely. ~ Gee
TheDarkOne
12 years 1 month ago
I think I missed it a bit
The image I wanted to convey was the slow progression of death, the actual progression vs. the finality of a "grip". Any ideas around this train of thought?
Geezer
12 years 1 month ago
I think what...
what you need to do, is to look at some of the combinations of words that you used. [Stilling silence]?
[turmoil quiets]? Here's the words that I would use with turmoil and silence.
settling silence
turmoil gone
and use echoes instead of entombed.
Just suggestions, you may find better ways. ~ Gee
Ian.T
12 years 1 month ago
NeHa
Another journey starts as this one ends, wasn't there a saying about:- Go silently into the dark,?
I can't recall the rest.. just the tiny piece that Gee picked up otherwise a Very Good write , Yours Ian.T