The Widow’s Prison

corpses and counterparts
I weep for the living
the widow
a pillar of strength in her own time of need
the empty, lifeless corpse of her husband
her love
her one
her only
her other half
her spirit lye in that coffin with him
no escape
expecting him to awake
awaiting his return

confined and bound
to a lonely yearning life of memories
when will his scent fade
destined to putter around the big empty house
you were supposed to live out your days together
she’ll never dance again
sure she’ll move, but never dance
not with her spirit
the way it was with him
her love
buried deep with her husband
each moment that passes, her heart aches a little more



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