The cracks in my hands are black -
As I mourn everything you once were.
The fireplace is sunk in ash,
All clocks have struck dead -
Our house pales
As the cold blunt sun dies
With me.
Poignant and chilling write. I especially love your flair for captivating the reader with your first line- you do this so effectively in each poem, that in itself is miraculous talent... "Our house pales, as the cold blunt sun dies- with me." Stunning! It is few and far between when I read just a line that strikes me so emotionally and vividly. This is such a cerebral and inventive write, each line is a touchingly melancholic imagine of itself. It's as if Salvador Dali painted his grief in words- this is what he would say, I believe. Exceptional write, Rosalind, I really love this.
Powerful images. All sensations of death--morning, black, ash, dead, dies. You've captured how it is to feel the loss of a love. I stopped by to read this one pulled in by the title alone. Well done.
This poem was deeply touching, and something I unquestionably connected with. Your writing lingers in a way most poems don't for me. Beautifully written.
Love the title and how it works so well with this moving and deeply painful poem. I love how you have referenced all the things that tell of endings and the death of things... ash, clocks striking, pale, cold... leaves me breathless and feeling the loss.
As to the composition of the poem, and your writing skills....well, I hope you know how awesome I think those are.
This one effects me deeply, I had to come back to it when I felt stronger. This feels like a impending mutual demise, it feels so empty that it echos...however hauntingly it is exquisite.
Poignant and chilling write. I especially love your flair for captivating the reader with your first line- you do this so effectively in each poem, that in itself is miraculous talent... "Our house pales, as the cold blunt sun dies- with me." Stunning! It is few and far between when I read just a line that strikes me so emotionally and vividly. This is such a cerebral and inventive write, each line is a touchingly melancholic imagine of itself. It's as if Salvador Dali painted his grief in words- this is what he would say, I believe. Exceptional write, Rosalind, I really love this.