In the wake of death’s passing, all is still.
Things will move slower for a while.

Colors are faded, sounds are muted,
silence falls heavy like snow.
It drapes over everything like a thick,
suffocating blanket.

All the noise of living has moved
respectfully to the side.
It waits for life to resume its usual
cadence and song.

Death has walked here. Tread carefully,
those who are mortal.

One thought on “Aftermath

  1. I wrote this towards the end of, “A Monster Calls.” I am not sure how to describe the feelings that came over me. It seems somehow less than what it was to call it inspiration. More like driven to expression.

    It doesn’t feel finished and the title doesn’t feel right. But I think the flow of it is spot on.

    A little tip for all my fellow poets out there, and for writers in general. Read your work out loud. How is its cadence, impact, sound? How does it flow? Can you tell where in my poem I struggled to find the right words? Can you also feel the reason why it seems unfinished? How does this poem make you feel?

    Comment with your answers. I am curious about what you would tell me.


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