Grey was the color of her eyes.
Soft as the feathers of a
mourning dove, mysterious as
the fog rolling over the river,
encircled with lashes deep as
the midnight sky.
Eyes that watched every movement,
gauged every nuance, that never let a
thing get by.
Thoughtful eyes, questioning eyes,
eyes that never shed a public tear up
until the day they were closed forever.
Terrytown child’s death is ruled a homicide; father arrested.
3 thoughts on “A Spiritual Matter”
There are some beautiful phrases here, and a slow development – right up to that unsuspected last line. Very beautiful.
Thank you, John.
zouxzoux, a very unexpected ending to a beautiful, if not very sad poem.