When you called me, I turned my face to the skies
As tears filled my eyes, and I cried, how I cried.
When you called me, your voice caressed my cheek,
And life didn't seem so bleak; as you continued to speak.
When you called me, I clutched the photo of us tight,
With no strenght left to fight, you set my grief to flight.
When you called me, I knew it would be the last time,
That I'd hear your voice; that I could call you mine.
When you called me, your voice filled up my heart
And though now you are gone, we'll never be apart.
Author notes
When You Called Me... In times of deep sorrow, I've experienced an hallucination of someone who I loved very much that died. I could not touch her, nor move towards her, but she has been sitting there, watching me with those eyes, purring that familiar purr - and although it has been over a year since she came to me, those two episodes that she did, have made me realise that she is always with me - even if I cannot hold her.
Comments
1 - 8 of 8
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So touching, thanks for your entry and good luck
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Beautiful write
That is touching write.
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She will be your spirit guide...in native folklore in America the indians believe everyone has a spirit guide, not necessarily a pet who has passed over, but one who attaches themselves to a person to impart knowledge for the sub concious to uphold. I have a gray wolf and the more he teaches the more I am able to see him as a man, but in most cases he reminds me of my beloved German Shepherd Freeway who was a gray sable...I am sure that familiar purr is a comfort to you
C
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So touching; absolutely beautiful
Exceptional poem. Wonderful rhyme scheme. Very moving.
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soul felt
this is wonderful especially having read the author notyes great rhythm and imagry seriously nice write
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So beautiful.. just beautiful.
"When you called me, your voice caressed my cheek,
And life didn't seem so bleak; as you continued to speak."
-- those lines touched me the most but the whole poem echoed in my heart.
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So glad you have that comfort. I enjoyed your write.
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My thoughts
the heart aches and in all the ages that pain still reminds one of just that love. The call of dread and sorrow. But perhaps for the best. Write on young poet.
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