THE IMPACT OF SILENCE

death-and-surrealism-in-the-attic

close proximity everlasting lovers

so soon become incongruous entities

prediction or predetermined? matters not

together upon an invincible brass bed

witness to a thousand sweet contortions

she, of alchemy’s infused drifting eyes

privileged to The Sandman’s grand tour

of sugar-coated dreamland and beyond

he, beside her, ice cold and constant

collected up by the one with a scythe

ill intent and the propensity to thieve

she pulsating, the other abruptly not

neither of faith, both of hope and charity

by rights, he should have died in her arms

his final transformation by inferno alone

rotting flesh and bone to gases and ashes

 

she settled on a smart white cardboard coffin

cheap, almost practical, environmentally friendly

the day of, friends say, closure (questionable)

spic and span the brand new chaste crematorium

of freshest scars and butchers slab bloody tears

a sparse congregation of the deliciously bored

no ‘My Way’, no wreaths, no eulogy, no requiem

no remembrance plaque nor marble headstone

just a sprinkling of the wild primroses he adored

let albums, words and keepsakes be all that is left

she could not decide just where to distil and scatter

he had had no favoured place save for a shared bed

she remembers he once said the most bizarre words

he ever captured abandoned him; slipped his mind

were lost; before his pen could consign them to paper

when all was done and dusted she slipped away quietly

went back home to her brand new unruly Border Collie

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44 thoughts on “THE IMPACT OF SILENCE

  1. a pair of delightful though somewhat mismatched greenhearts, atheists to be sure, put asunder by the ill wind of death – so many jewels here – my favorite line is “a sparse congregation of the deliciously bored”

  2. The coffin caught my attention, too. Both my grandfathers passed when I was old enough to hear the many ins and outs of funeral whatnots. One grandfather chose the “cadillic of coffins,” a sweet baby blue steel number with white satin linens and all that jazz, to decompose in utter luxury. My other grandfather didn’t want a coffin–he knew he couldn’t afford one. He asked to be cremated and buried in a small tin box–it reminded me of the cash box my grandmother used every year for rummage sales. Hell, it might have been that box.

    Curious, the elements of another’s work that grip us the most.

    Beautiful, by the by. A most beautiful piece.

    • Don’t go for bamboo if you don’t want to catch a glimpse of the corpse…we could see my old dad through the gaps…not nice! My Shirley wants to be turned into a diamond (she read about it and it is possible she says)! What a day I’ve had thus far, gone 4pm and the whole day spent trying to post a letter (true)…unbelievable, must write up the trauma of this tale!

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