tagNon-Erotic PoetryThe Biographer

The Biographer

byTristesse2©

By now I know my way
through this holy hospice
and yet a shrouded sister
insists, gliding silently ahead
and my feet, suddenly clumsy
on the stone floor, follow.

Rain christens the
saintly windows
of her white room.

She seems to sleep,
arms above the blankets,
narrow hands resting
palms down like two halves
of a prayer parted by doubt.

I am back once more to prompt
her memories and write
her long life in shorthand.
Later a book
before her illness wins.

Beside the bed, a photograph,
a radiant young woman.
It is she before the years
of heartache.

But now, her Easter Island face
lies in repose, scanning
her remarkable life from behind
her blue veined eyelids.

The old eyes open
sparking a smile of recognition.
“Where were we?”

Report Story

byTristesse2© 8 comments/ 848 views/ 0 favorites

Share the love

Report a Bug

1 Pages:1

Please Rate This Submission:

Please Rate This Submission:

  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4
  • 5
Please wait
Recent
Comments
by Anonymous

If the above comment contains any ads, links, or breaks Literotica rules, please report it.

There are no recent comments (8 older comments) - Click here to add a comment to this poem or Show more comments or Read All User Comments (8)

Add a
Comment

Post a public comment on this submission (click here to send private anonymous feedback to the author instead).

Post comment as (click to select):

You may also listen to a recording of the characters.

Preview comment

Forgot your password?

Please wait

Change picture

Your current user avatar, all sizes:

Default size User Picture  Medium size User Picture  Small size User Picture  Tiny size User Picture

You have a new user avatar waiting for moderation.

Select new user avatar:

   Cancel