XIII. The Final Verse

XIII. The Final Verse

A Poem by Mace
"

Part of a poetry novella

"

I found your pages in the quiet dust,
Folded beneath the broken floor,
Your words still hum, though lined with rust,
Each poem left an open door.

I read them in the evening glow,
I traced the stains along each line,
And felt the hush you used to know
Now pressing gently into mine.

Your chair still waits, the lamp still sways,
The cup still stains the table round,
I move as you once shaped the days,
And make no claim to what I’ve found.

But here, within this timeless space,
Your verses end, your voice worn thin.
So I have shaped, with borrowed grace,
The line you never let begin.




Goodbye.

© 2025 Mace


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Added on March 31, 2025
Last Updated on March 31, 2025
Tags: poem, poetry, love, broken, sadness, trauma

Author

Mace
Mace

Canada



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