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 a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.

    T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

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