NaPoWriMo – Day #5

4-5-20

The dead have
their collective hand
on my shoulder

I can feel the pressure
of their words
in the back of my throat

See them gathering
in the shadows behind my eyes

Feel them crowding
my heart

They whisper unkept promises
and lament unfinished lives.
And now time unravels
before them –
an eternity of regret

Another day, another poem.  I’m really a little ray of sunshine lately.  One of these days I’ll post something optimistic again, honest.

Night in the Portrait Gallery of My Ancestors

The dead watch me
as I walk down the hall

I hear them whisper
among themselves
mournful, mindful
urgent or ironic
I cannot tell

when I turn
to look
mist gathers
behind my eyes
and they are still, silent,
poised within their frames

waiting…

 

This is a quadrille (poem composed of forty-four words) for dVerse Poets Pub.  De also asked us to include some form of the word “whisper” in our piece.