A Tender Smile in a Desolate Place

 In the breeze I watch the dance of my dark curls,

My eyes, those dark enchanting pools where tears

Threaten to spill even after all these years

On the fresh skin of a blossoming girl.

My own flesh and blood, this reflection of me

Will never hear the words I long to speak,

Or the longing to give the love she seeks,

Ravaging my existence with agony.

Rosy lips murmur the words that I crave;

Three little words replenish my void heart,

That withered during our time apart-

Like the crumbling letters on the worn grave.

She rests the marigolds on the beaten ground,

Golden and vibrant against the old grey,

And slides her delicate fingers all the way

Across the cold stone without a sound.

A warmth was imbued by her tender smile

I’d forgotten in this desolate place.

Fifteen years of beauty glows on her face,

Bringing rare life to a place so hostile

All too soon her fragile frame moves on:

With aching loneliness she leaves me here,

Her last lingering turn reveals a tear-

A whisper of goodbye and she is gone.

This is a response to Challenge #4 of the Grammar Ghoul Press Writing Challenge. This week’s prompt was void (adj.) and this video called “Dia De Los Muertos”.

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