Dying

Dying, dying, dying.

Not you,

nor I,

nor anyone we know,

but this connection between us.

I can feel it withering.

Maybe you can’t,

maybe you never knew it was there,

but I felt it then when it was strong,

and I feel it now when it is weak.

 

Dying, like a tree

after a drought of many years.

First its leaves turn brown and fall,

and then it slowly dies within,

but the trunk still stands,

a monument to a beating heart

that I once felt against my cheek

while my head was on your chest.

 

Though dead and gone,

its shell will stand throughout the ages,

the remnants of something we once had,

or at least I thought we had.

And I will remember the life it gave me,

and the heart it took to the grave.

 

Though I mourn the loss,

I know it would’ve killed me in the end.

One heart cannot beat for two for very long.

Reviews

[Jack Isaac]

[random review] The last line really says it all! A parasitic relationship can only last as long as the donor has blood. I can picture “the connection” like a transfusion line. The flow and meter seem to work well in this poem, and truly reflects your sentiment of surviving a nearly certain “death” and “withering.” Your metaphor of the tree works really well here – nice write!

[Ruth]

Wow! Seriously moved me :) Some amazing lines to think over that wrench!
This is amazing hon...the tree - the outer shell...the pressure on one heart, goodness...this is art! xoxo

[Enigma]

Impressive use of metaphor and imagery. It is difficult to cope up the death of a relation held so dear but as the last stanza says, "one heart cannot beat for two for very long". Well done!