Except for a light upstairs the house was dark.
His car still trembled after the four hour drive,
and little boys’ breath was soft as their beating hearts
as he gathered them gently, carried them in to his wife.

The eye of the moon peered into the muted rooms,
its soft light tickled the dishes and half-eaten food
that scattered the tables like crusted daubs of paint
in a work by a loon whose hell was designed by saints.

He settled the boys and covered them in their beds
and tiptoed softly into her lofty room.
A single candle guttered against the moon
and silvered her shining eyes as she sighed and said,

I thought you had left forever, and life was gone;
But now you’re back, and nothing has changed: I’ve won.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
This entry was posted in lotus eaters, Poetry, serial, Sonnets and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to silence

  1. danae McC says:

    Oh, I love this poem!

    I love the mysteriousness of the last two lines, the quietness throughout, the almost-rhymes, “soft” repeated in a way that’s unobtrusive. Lovely images and a tenderness.

    You write so beautifully about family.

    • riverwriter says:

      Thank you for getting it. I wanted to write away from the expectations while setting them up. And the sonnet form helps, although I’ve twigged it with nods to several different traditions.

  2. gudgey says:

    winners are such losers!

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