The Last Letter – A Poem

 Once I loved
A soul I hated
For my heart he painted
The colour of gold

The crows they grew
Walking along the creases
Bordering those ageing, emerald eyes

His thin lips they smiled
Showing the years of laughter
Forming those obvious little lines
However, smothered by his salty stubble

His calloused hands
Clutching mine all those years ago
In painful silence we witnessed
The landslide as it fell

His coffee stained hair
Cut short and fluffy to touch
Forever only dusted with hints of silver
Which he had always wanted

Pity, how his eyes would quickly darken
And his hair turn to grease
His hands turn to bones
Only held up by the veins

I watched as the man I loved slowly turn to dust
Aching to be cradled in the comforting arms of God
And; It was all my fault

I remember the day he acted
Upon those tempting thoughts of hatred
Staining that old library door

His green eyes shone no more
His thin lips showed no expression
His face was cold and numb
He hung from the ceiling
As he welcomed Death’s greedy grip

I crumpled to that cursed floor
Waves of sorrow flooded through the inconsolable bellows
Those salty tears forever stained on my lips

I looked up, to the broken man before me
The man with the laughter lines hidden behind his bushy beard
I leaned in for one last kiss
A loud sob in every breath
I had never wanted this

I look over past his shoulder
To his well-loved mahogany desk
A glance of white, a note I see
In his writing, addressed to me:

“Once I loved
A soul I hated
For my heart she painted
The colour of gold”

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3 comments

  1. scottishmomus · August 23, 2015

    So good although I hope it’s fiction.

    Liked by 1 person

    • addictivemuse · August 23, 2015

      Thank you! 🙂 Yep! It is just a work of fiction. I wrote it late at night after an idea popped up in my brain. Pure fiction.

      Liked by 1 person

      • scottishmomus · August 23, 2015

        Ah, that’s good. I’m always a bit unsure with poems whether they’re based on fact or not. I know, from people’s comments on my own stuff, that I’m not the only one but sometimes they are so better to be sure. I can relax in the enjoyment of the poem now without worrying about you. 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

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