Seasoned Death

January 20, 2011
By MelissaCaccamo SILVER, Burlington, Other
MelissaCaccamo SILVER, Burlington, Other
7 articles 0 photos 1 comment

My love, my life, lowered below the ground
To be trampled upon by many feet

And covered up by a cold, crisp white sheet
Of hate, death and a morbid open wound

The graveyard holds host to solely one sound
Nature is dead, lacking even a tweet
From clouds cascade down a vigorous sleet
Buries musical mourners from around

Although, when above her the grass will grow
Winter turns to spring, away goes the snow
Like compost for new ground with thirst so deep
She befalls for which I no longer weep
Her beauty at heart, her face always there
When spring releases the bitter cold air


The author's comments:
This was written to model a Petrarchan Sonnet. I was thinking about the grieving process a widow goes through, and thinking about Pa Charles Ingall's saying "There's no great loss without some small gain", I came up with this poem to model the good that comes from a tragic death. The seasons I used as archetype for death and mourning, and spring for new life and an optimistic outlook on what is to come. It is meant to be an eye-opener for readers to realise the pain of mourning but another look at the physical death of a body.

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