Empty Bed

Beneath azure skies of a rural village stands a house;
the long forgotten domicile of two lovers who’d once wed.
Declaration of love; ’twas recorded in the vows –
but ‘forever’ was diluted on the day I was mis-led.

I’d pledged to him my life and heart – to love exclusively;
he oft’ returned felicity far greater than expected;
conquests and tribulations, shared conclusively –
until the twisted hand of fate left me broken and rejected.

I ponder. I scan each room tainted liquorice black,
where walls shriek babels of retorts most unkind.
My spectre lugubriously resents fast approaching flack,
obliterating years of memories – I wonder if I’m blind?
And deaf also, ’cause from him not have I heard
a parting wish: “I’m sorry babes”. No goodbye. No note.
Why? Could not he utter nor write a single word?
No. My legacy’s a simile of the guy I did once dote.

Vivid recollections animate in frigorific room,
fancy photos of our wedding; Hounslow amphitheatre;
matt snapshots of our courting, since abandoned to the tomb;
while above my head his aura glows a compromising feature.

Enraptured I behold the phosphorescent portrait of his face,
precipitating tears I voluminously shed.
I turn to slam the door on this historic, haunted place —
then see his image beck’ning me to the tattered empty bed

Paige Elizabeth Turner
Paige writes across a variety of genres, but prefers to concentrate on her crime / mystery series featuring Private Investigator Olivia Watts and her Watts Happening? Investigations agency. Also dabbling in poetry, Paige produces emotive verse from romance through to environmental issues. Writing is her lifeblood, but as experienced by many writers, there’s a shortfall of financial nutrients feeding the blood.

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