My soul was only half there

Crescent Moon

Your hand lay limp

Upon my lap,

Tears gleaming-streaked down my rosy cheeks.

Your last breath raspy in the winter air,

Your face then went so fair.

–

The gloom of the solemn moon

Illuminated your fair face 

I pulled back your hair and kissed you farewell.

I swear I saw your face burn with passion-or maybe it went lifeless.

–

My tears stained your jacket like a tea bag staining paper-

Hard to get rid of once it’s happened.

My soul was only half there and my head hung low-like the crescent moon hanging low above my head.

Lower

And lower.

Jennifer Worswick Irving-Bell

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