Her Word

Finding beauty in even the darkest places, mending the wounds of promises that couldn't be kept.

Tubes in her arms kept her alive;

wound around her bed,

entangled the room with cold death,

trapping the sunshine.

He held her small, delicate, hand,

bluebells in his eyes,

a stuffed elephant in his lap,

slouched forward, mourning.

She had not lived to keep her word--

Heaven took her then.

Daisies lined her body interred,

gathering the sun.

Author's Note

I wasn't sure whether to add an additional quatrain. I felt that the final line was a good place to end the poem.