Your words struck like thunderbolts
that left me shattered.
With tempest in your thoughts you stormed out.
The door rattled.
Then, silence.
Small at first, a simple absence of sound,
it arose like a slow tide.
Like a solemn witness.
Silence floated in with the dusk,
sat on my pillow,
shamelessly slid under the sheets.
The night sluggishly full of it.
Unheeded, its chunks kept falling
through the night
like blossom of the faded sky.
Shrubs of whitten.
As colour drained from the world,
the dawn came crisp and pale
like a shroud
or a fresh white page
still unwritten.
About the Creator
Katarzyna Popiel
A translator, a writer. Two languages to reconcile, two countries called home.
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Comments (3)
Wonderfully wrought! The sense of silence and the snow imagery were pristine! Loved the descriptor, “The night sluggishly full of it.” a finality with a sadness but a hint of hope with “a fresh white page still unwritten”
Katarzyna, I think this is just lovely. Sad but beautiful at the same time. There is a sense that that is it, there will be no coming back from this leaving, reinforced by the snow and that image of the silence being your bedfellow is very powerful.
This was so poignant yet so beautiful. Loved your poem!