I had worn the red dress to the funeral

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  • Lost Love

    I had worn the red dress to the funeral

    He said he loved seeing me in the dress.
    So I wore it, even if it was a bright red.
    The little ones want to know why, and
    when will it get better, than the dread.

    I float through a sea of black, 
    anchoring the little hands, that held me.
    Even with the glass face staring,
    Pleasures of the past grip me.

    Amazement and shock settle as I struggle,
    with a void and unearthly pain.
    Drawing in mock strength,
    I shut in my tears, shut out the rain.

    They never understood, the house
    him and myself had made.
    Or how now, I seek solace in,
    a long-for-but lost, pair of jade.

    It seems that nothing can matter now,
    As I look around taking in the scene.
    Looking still, feeling ill, tensely,
    as He is placed slowly beneath the green.

    Falling to my knees, my vision blurs,
    Brokenly, I embrace the ones left here.
    It doesnt seem real, a nightmare surely,
    I wanted to go home to see him there.

    Its been over for years and
    for him, my heart never cease beating,
    I had worn the red dress to the funeral,
    a tribute to our love, undying, not fleeting.

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    Chaos128 commented on I had worn the red dress to the funeral

    03-24-2010

    I read a lot of writing on this site that just seems drenched in despair for despair’s sake. But you’re work here, though melancholy; seems to be a genuine air clearing declaration. I see you you’ve put out a lot of new work… that’s the way to roll, Franny! Good job!

    franny86

    03/24/2010

    just taking a veteran's advice is all i'm doing.... thanks..

    WillieBlast50 commented on I had worn the red dress to the funeral

    09-18-2009

    that's pretty heavy right there Fran I would love to know what went on but I wont ask but that's heavy

    franny86

    09/19/2009

    i am grateful for the read first off..... and of course alot went on to bring this on...

    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

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