Your mother always said your ability
to argue was your best feature;
I thought it was your eyes.
The way just a quick glance could cause my heart to rise
and flutter towards unexpected heights of happiness.
Those wondrous nights where we sat and stared across the glow of tenderly lit candles and a single daisy,
and you'd talk to me of beauty.
Sometimes we'd argue.
You used to say that death was beautiful,
as if in the final moments of existence some wonderful spectacle enveloped such an unforgiving end.
You argued with anyone who would listen; professors, shopkeepers, drunks,
and I just watched your eyes.
In the end you always won.
Always; whether it was quick or until the day had since grown long.
I still could never agree with your view of death;
until the daisies on your headstone
proved me wrong.
YOU ARE READING
Whispers of the Mind
PoetryWords have power. I learnt that from an early age. I love that you can bring people to other worlds and take them for a tour, create a whole universe in peoples minds, or give a special kind of hope and friendship to them. I love to welcome peopl...
