Cold Stone

The stone angels watch her as she grieves.

Snow falls swiftly and

gently to the ground. I

feel my fingers numb

under my warm wool

gloves. The world looks

like a frosted cake;

everything is white and

so, so pure.

 

I'm the only one there...

all alone. I shift my

heavy cloak over my

body for warmth. It was

dead quiet. So, so cold,

it was. I shivered. I

kept walking, slower this

time. I didn't speak, for

fear of breaking this most

opaque atmosphere.

 

Carved figures of angels

watched over the homes

of the dead. They stood,

still and silent. I

stopped and placed a frail

hand to the stone. I pulled

it away quickly. It

was as cold as death.

 

I knew not why I

was here, but rediscovered

my purpose as I

approached the smallest

and most worn of all

the graves. My brother,

my only brother, he lay

there, both bone and flesh

decaying and rotting.

I shuddered violently

at the thought.

 

I placed a black rose,

its stem wrapped in a

black ribbon, on the

ground in front of the

slab of stone. I held

my other hand to my

lips and put it on

the stone, kissing my

brother for the last time

ever.

“I'm sorry, Tim, but I

can't stay, for I'm

betrothed to a most horrible

man."

I whispered quietly. My

breath came out as

white clouds that faded

into the sky.

 

I turned away and

pulled the hood of my

cloak further down over

my face.

I walked away, crying

silently, wishing I was

never born.

Author's Note

A little something that I wrote back in the day. Inspired by the graveyard scene in the 2004 version of the Phantom of the Opera. Loved the movie. It strongly influenced this scene.

Reviews

[quinfinn]

loved this poem, so well imaged and nicely woven. beautiful and full of feeling. and if you're referring to the andrew lloyd webber and tim rice version of "phantom"
i concur... love the song and scene (duet) "all i ask of you".....