Distance

One of my first poems, prequel to Missing Digits. It tells the story of a young newlywed suffering through feelings of isolation as she waits and worries over her husband, who has gone off to fight in Europe during WWII.

I have yet to see

In my young life

A sight more woeful

Than that of lovers apart

 

As he leaves her

Quivering on the station platform

Only a feeble wave he musters

As his better half shrinks to nothing

 

But greater still is her suffering

For she now bears the burden

Of his hope, his iridescent ray

To pierce his conspiracies ahead

 

She returns home,

Once again fused to the dwelling

Yet not the same as before

Sharing her loss with the indifferent timbers

 

Every room becomes devoid of color to her

The ashen tables and couches

Groan imperceptibly of nostalgia with

The weeping lapis lazuli heirloom robbed of its beauty

 

All that remains is his photograph

The radiant face and clumsy smile defy the mood

Yet with each passing day she watches the blight

Creep from the edges inward to drown out the spirit

 

Swollen eyes flirt with reality

As she endures visions in the daylight

And dreams of the moonlight

Feeding off of her frightful fantasies

 

The visions and dreams, though timely and uniform

Draw from the same tremors of her greatest fear

Of ignorance, left in the dark

In the manner of his fortune

 

She cries for celestial guidance

So alone, in house and heart

A withering shell with soul

As crippled as her late mother

 

Her mother

So intent on her daughter’s life

Her dream for contentment

Passed unfulfilled to her kin

 

Would her mother’s fate return

Hungry for descendants?

She struggles against the demons

Of her bloodline

 

Her blood begins to run cold, dark

The eyes barren, welcoming the void

Inside her soul screams to escape

The breathing casket

 

But then

 

Hope

 

Arrives

 

He is standing in the doorway

Limp apparent

A disheveled shell himself

Worn past existence

 

Slowly the casket cracks, shatters

Her soul leaps though her eyes

Illuminating them with tears

As it flings her into his arms

 

His broad hands with missing digits

Envelop her, probe her

Her back, neck, hair, eyes

So worn from worry

 

Two bodies tremble in harmony

Each the other’s anchor

As the world slows, stops

Melts and fades

 

Color cascades out of the entwining

And floods the room with spirit

Life restored to barren furniture

That gratefully welcomes him home

 

She looks up into the soft eyes

Their fragility consuming his scars

Her own eyes rest with resolution

At his soft whispered song

 

“Never again”

 

Author's Note

Feel free to critique, my writing style is a little raw.

Reviews

[S. Kimball]

Well written. Very moving.

Not too much to say, criticism wise. I'm not a poet, so I can't give you anything other than a reader's perspective on this piece.

My unprofessional opinion is that it is very good, though. Your description of the woman's pain at the temporary loss of her husband is well written and tragic, while their reuniting is bittersweet and enjoyable.

[Coyote Poetry]

A beautiful poem. Woman who wait feel the burden of War. They must be strong in heart and Will to give the returning Soldier a purpose to go on. A powerful poem. Description and detail are outstanding.
Coyote

[The Lone Wolf Prose]

:)
I should record the piece I wrote in response to this so that you can finally hear it.
~Butterfly

[Satellite Heart]

I think it's pretty good. Lots of emotion, kinda lovely in it's own way. Great Work.

[Holly]

I never went to school or had the proper education on literature and writing like I wanted. All I know is that I struggle with reading when the writing doesn't hold my attention. I couldn't finish it. I'm sure the poem was fine but the particular style just seemed like pretty words and lots of effort. Like I said before that could have been a masterpiece and I'd never know it because I don't know what to look for. Still I admire that you chose kind of a difficult subject because it's hard filling in the pieces of a picture we were not apart of.