My name is John Morris Jr. I am 17 and live in St. Francis, Wisconsin. My poetry is either about an experience I've had or about my point of view on a subject. Either way I feel that my poems are a reflection of myself. I've always liked writing, and have been writing all of my life.
Woman of Gray
A woman of gray worn by time,
makes her supper preparing to dine.
Despite fragileness her eyes still shine
on this barren night when the clock strikes nine.
Thoughts of life's love past,
he was good to her but his life went too fast.
All alone now the woman of gray
sits over her meal and begins to pray
as she eats her miniature feast she realizes
the shadows have voices and many surprises.
Out of the shadow a man of gray,
wonders unnoticed as a stray
Beaten by the whip of time
his breath stopped on the ninth chime
On the anniversary of his last night he enters
the house he once did dwell,
and looking into the eyes of his love he
knew she could tell she could tell
his presence and forever loving grace
and he read her mind by her eyes worn in her face.
The woman gets up from her meal
the dreams in her heart were much too real
across the room to her chair
staring at a picture in much despair
a scene from the past a scene too good to last
it was her and her husband on the night of their life
the night he took her for his wife
He walks over to stand next to her,
Admiring her worn and broken beauty which
is unchanged to him.
Her frail hands reach for the picture with a tear,
her husband's actions went from his eyes to his ear.
Her voice simple and weak, and what she
said the man of gray will not soon forget.
I feel you in my heart.
So much I want to say but don't know where to start.
Everything in me is gone,
Now I await death as a never ending song.
Everything is washed away by the rain,
Nothing's real anymore, nothing but pain.
With these words a tear fell from her eye,
and deep in her heart she longed to die.
Her husband gently rubbed her eyes shut,
rubbed her head and with that her life was cut
Took her by the hand,
lifted her spirit free to stand.
Her hands released the memory instilled in glass,
shattering time reviving the past.
Woman of gray no longer to weep,
Woman of gray now forever to sleep.
Copyright © 2001 by John Morris