"http://www.shannonabercrombie.com/my-blog/
This one involves taking the writing prompts and challenges that are posted each day and applying them to your own projects. I decided to revisit a poem I have been toying with for years. It is a blend of fact and fiction, as all my writing is.
Tintagel
Her hair is wild, wind swept waves.
Trapped, she no longer leaves this bed.
I sit and wonder what to say,
Words float between us, scurrying away.
A stranger to her self, as she is to
me.
Eyes roam round the room,
What exactly does she see?
I see her standing on the edge of the
rocks.
We peered down at the frothy shore.
The setting for the tales she told of
pirates and their gold.
Tintagel. Mystery and majesty all in
one word.
Barely a whisper on her lips, as I
recall the fortress ruins.
Her loneliness crushes us as she
shivers and weeps,
mumbling to all that have disappeared
and left her waiting.
She is the only, lonely keeper of her
memories.
No one left to recall the small girl
trudging off to school,
hair pulled in tight pigtails, no one
remembers the blushing bride.
I long to tell her, I will remember all
the stories she told,
they are more precious to me than
cities of gold.
I long to say it's okay for her to
leave me here, there is nothing left to fear.
Family, friends, and a loving God
eagerly await her, calling her near.
Suddenly there is a riot of bells and
buzzers, crying in alarm.
Nurses rush in checking the monitors'
beacons, grasping at her slender arm.
The notebook I have feverishly been
writing in drops to the floor.
As I think of rushing for the door, my
pen slips from my grasp.
It rolls along, resting against a wheel
of the bed, a momentary haven
before it is crushed as the
defibrillator wheels from the room.
Truth; my tears are not sadness. She
will not be back, she is truly free.
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