Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Sunday, June 9, 2013

Til Death


She lies beneath the dirt and stone
Her earthly body turns to bone
Upon her death she wears a ring
Her lover’s token on her finger, hers alone

That night after the midnight tone
Arrives a man, to her unknown
He hides under the night’s dark wing
And tries to steal  that precious thing, to be his own

Upon her finger it seems sewn
Will not slip off, he does bemoan
To take the purloined gold he brings
A knife to her cold, lifeless finger—then a groan

She rises from her sacred zone
With livid eyes, her hair windblown
Alive again, she tries to cling
Refusing to let go that ring; the man falls prone

In her white gown, a figure lone
She wanders back home to atone
To ease the loss and heal the sting
Of her beloved, now aching for she who’s gone. 

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Music with Marian, Hardcore Americana
inspired by Tim Erikson's "Leave Your Light On"  and the legend of Magorie McCall 


Mimi Foxmorton said...

Lovin' the pattern and lovin' the macabre! ALWAYS a fan of the macabre...and your writing!

Hugs for a ghostly day!

not displayed said...

I love how you spin a story with your poems.
Romantic and a little spooky this one

Marian said...

ooohhh this is perfectly wonderful! yayayyy! i feel like cheering. hip hip hooray! love it. did i say i love it? love it!!!

Helen said...

Perfect pairing of song and poetry.