Last Notes

She tries to breathe, feels every molecule
catch in her throat, cling to the walls
of her lungs, as droplets of sea spray
and tears dapple her face.

The gales will not pry her grip
from the lighthouse railing, not until
the last of her strength fades and
the music carried by the wind dies.

He was found in the lower ballroom,
the last bubbles of his breath
adhered to the brass of his horn
like fish eggs to a swaying plant.









dVerse offers up the amazing photography of Leovi 
as poetic inspiration.


Filed under Poetry, Poetry - Prompts

13 responses to “Last Notes

  1. wow, did not see that coming…interesting tale…and leaves me with a few questions…the over all feel i get is that he gave his life for her…as it was the music that kept her holding on in the storm that eventually took him…really intriguing verse man…

  2. A really engaging story, and I can see the fish eggs in the image : )

  3. Such strong imagery illuminating the emotion of the story.

  4. ..creepy & tragic that hangs thoughts with such an intriguing tone… i was reflecting between two incidents here: murder or suicide? …hmmn…

  5. Great visuals in this one, Mark. Well done.

  6. Tremendous last line to a poem worthy of it.

  7. Whoa…gripping piece of writing.

  8. Wow, it was interesting to see what you did with this picture compared to what I did with it. Ha, I can definitely SEE the fish egss in the picture. Great poem!

  9. That was almost like a crime-novel. The gaps I filled in definitely pointed at sinister actions, could you say reversal of sympathies?. The imagery and the flow was I really liked, and definitely the fish eggs. 😉

  10. You packed so much in here. Great love story and it goes perfectly with the picture. I love your imagination.

  11. Very imaginative and thoughtful. Abstracts are diufficult to work through because you have to separate the reality of what you see from what you think you feel. Well done.>KB

  12. Oh wow, this made me think of the Titanic for some reason. Very powerful story line here and I’m going to read it again now (for the third time)

Some of what I write is true, some is fiction; most is merely possibility.

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