I'm sorry, she says,
But I'm done counting the days.
Coming home she took the blade,
The letter of death on her table.
Her mother reads the words,
As the blood in the bathroom curdles.
Each teardrop made a stain,
As herself she had herself slain.
Tell my lover I love him.
I had to commit this crime.
He will cry, she knows,
Please dry his tears?
The funeral was unending,
Like her life's ending.
Now it's over,
The mood so sober.
She found her peace,
In life she lost.
In death she won.
06/06/2015
YOU ARE READING
Melpomene
PoetryHighest Rating: #596 in Poetry! Poetry collection of my own poems. Please enjoy! "Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen." -Leonardo da Vinci "A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a s...
