Thursday, March 31, 2005

untouched

It sits
untouched
by time and by my father,
waiting for her return.

I would not say
unkept,
but still neglected
and unfinished;
still waiting.

Unfinished projects
frozen:
half-painted walls,
half-fixed fences,
half-healed hearts.

Passerbys
do not notice
(if they stop at all)
the stiff
architecture;
the stagnate
air
lingering within.

The house
is her
and she
is dead;
yet remains
untouched
waiting for her return.

3 comments:

Anonymous Poet said...

Hi Stan Laurel! Nice poetry! Does Hardy write too?

Is that an anonymous moniker?

Thanks for stopping by my site and leaving some comments. They are much appreciated.

I like this piece. It has this narrative, haunting quality to it. Rather natural.

Best wishes . . . .

Jyotsna said...

This is sad and poignant.
I liked one expression used here immensely -"half-healed hearts"..
beautifully portrayed
:)

_Soulless_ said...

you know me, adrian. i got a soft spot for a bittersweet slice of morbidity, buttered with loss. that phrase, "half-healed hearts"... *sigh* jyotsna beat me to praising that line. ^_^

Blog Archive