A plaster handprint on my heart.

A plaster handprint on my heart.

A Poem by Radioactive
"

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

"

Dear Rose,

The night that I was awakened by a knock at the door,

Still blazes through my dreams,

Sometimes I think that there’s really somebody there,

When I look through the window,

There’s nothing but the cold icy wind and the rain,

I’m all alone.


I still remember the lines on the cop’s face,

Markings of pain from everything his eyes have seen,

I remember the way his mouth moved when he told us,

You weren’t coming home,

You were nothing but a body,

Charred and broken,

You didn’t exist, they told me,

Not anymore.


What’s the word for a sister who becomes an only child,

My whole life crashed in those few moments,

I had never existed without you,

I had never wanted or needed to.


Eventually everyone forgot that I had a sister,

On good days I think mom forgot too,

When her eyes aren’t as dull and lifeless,

And the circles under her eyes aren’t as visible,

I will never forget you.


Remember those plaster handprints we made in preschool,

Our tiny fingers will last forever,

Even though mine are much bigger now,

Yours are in a coffin somewhere,

That’s the way you’ve touched my life,

Like a handprint in plaster,

You’ve got a handprint on my very heart.


It’s been years now,

In the beginning minutes seemed to drag,

I thought that time was punishing us,

Holding us in place,

Now I’ve realized that if you close your eyes,

Life can leave you in the dust.


I’ve been back to the spot you died,

Laid a rose where I imagined your heart beat in your chest,

In those precious last seconds,


Once we were the flower sisters,

Rose and Marigold,

You’ve been plucked from your stem,

A wilted flower,

Like the ones planted by your grave,

Right beside where this letter lies.


One day I will see you again,

Love always,

Mari.


As your favourite shakespeare quote said:

Life's but a walking shadow,

 A poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

 And then is heard no more,

It is a tale told by an idiot,

 Full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.

© 2010 Radioactive


Author's Note

Radioactive
Fictional, but it was sad for me to write. It is supposed to be both a poem and a letter, something I haven't ever done before. Tell me what you think, and add me as a friend if you like. This was written for a challenge.

XX Maddie

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Reviews

wow...I LOVE, LOVED and LOVES it!! This poem rested very easy on my mind and was a pleasure to read. Although, the story in itself was very sad...it was a kind way for the speaker to remember her sister and such a tragic event...this is truly amazing ;)...good work!!

Posted 12 Years Ago



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1034 Views
1 Review
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Shelved in 3 Libraries
Added on August 7, 2010
Last Updated on August 7, 2010
Tags: shakespeare, sister, sisterhood, death, weep, grief, sibling, love, recovery, flowers, wilted, coffin

Author

Radioactive
Radioactive

meh, Narnia



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