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Ophelia
Before the fog of frost and periwinkle settles in,
before the halo of violets rings around her neck like a noose,
before they find her,
heaven whispers her name.
Oh fallen angel!
Oh mourning dove!
Oh body of pureness and pearl dust!
What has led you to this fate?
To lie among the clipped wings of baby birds,
savaged and slain?
Clinging to pansies and poppies,
as you sing tunes of madness!
Still,
a mere fawn,
siping from rivers of chamomile,
doesn’t weep over waterlogged drapes.
The quaint doe,
doesn’t dream
of warm rosemary and cotton sleeves.
So here she’ll stay.
Her hair clinging to roots,
wadding in hell's waters.
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In this poem, I tried to write from the perspective of the animals in the forest were she (Ophelia) dies. I compared how people mourn the lost to how nature reacts to death. In the first half, I described how her family and friends would react to her death, calling up to God and asking why/how she died. In the second half, I described how the animals and nature around her would react to her death- just kind of going about their business and paying no attention to her. I liked the idea of writing what I think would happen right before she died, and before any person found her, that kind of quite and peaceful time before chaos.