image by Daniel Murtagh, via Magpie Tales
"Colleen, I...I...when can I...?"
Question unanswered, she shuts the door,
While he clutches his Donegal tweed
hair beaded with misty rain,
Going cold there on the doorstep
hands losing sense-memory of her,
Door latches, a metal snick
cutting the strings of his heart
Posts
Sad...love "hands losing sense-memory of her" Nice work!
ReplyDelete"Sense memory" is one of my favorite phrases. Thank you!
Delete"cutting the strings of his heart"...
ReplyDeleteI really liked your take on this week's prompt, Irish
*bowing* Thank you, madam.
Deletelosing sense memory of her. yea...thats good
ReplyDeleteI find that to be the best way to describe that feeling of losing love...
DeleteExcellent take - sad when the strings of our heart are severed...
ReplyDeleteAnna :o]
It's not good to cut the strings to a man's heart! Great piece!
ReplyDeleteNot good, indeed. Something I have too much experience with, I think :) Thank you!
DeleteIn very few words you told a story of immense proportion!!!
ReplyDeleteLovely and atmospheric, Irish...
ReplyDeleteOuch!
ReplyDeleteWow. Love it.
ReplyDeleteThe Wife and I have been watching a lot of British period shows on Netflix. This reminded me of a scene that might fit in with that. Good stuff.
ReplyDeleteJason
The Cheeky Daddy
Now, if only I could get in with the writers of Downton Abbey...:)
Deletejust so cold...poor fella
ReplyDeleteHe knows what he lost, that is certain.
Deleteoh - poor guy! that hearts!
ReplyDeleteYep, right to the heart. Thank you for stopping by!
DeleteSad! He might as well give up on her.
ReplyDeleteHe might...but I don't think he wants to :)
DeleteSuch a lovely sad poem. I can picture his look and feel his disappointment. Ah, lovesick lads.
ReplyDeleteThe photograph is wondrous!