My Eulogy

[LiteraryAntiquity]

As her epitaph there were four photographs.
Yellow, blue, purple and green. Nadda else.
Vanity.
The only beauty she wanted shown.
For on gravestones who can see, through a few choice words, the corpse beneath it?
Who can see beyond the cement?
So why not show something beautiful?
Or at least the only time she was beautiful in her eyes?

Four photographs of youth, thick black lips and dark eyeliner.
She was unwilling to show the rotting, decomposing regret of her life.
She was unwilling to tell, in a few choice words, how her partner was an adulterer,
how her children flew the nest, how her mother died when she was twenty-one,
the only true relatives she had.

Four photographs that let you observe the true sadness of her eyes.
Four photos that as a writer would be the only way to expose her soul.
One whom could bare all on a blanket of posies, planted six-feet above her.
The tears wept are wept for a seventeen year old, at a time in her life when vanity mattered.
This was a time when children and cars and bills and the dress she wore on her wedding day paid no relevance.

A hazy dream, the shadows of a nightmare beautifully painted in a captured image
and when the gravestone wears away and falls, when mother nature pulls her body from the ground
there will be no choice words that she will miss,
only a face, only an image, of a girl no longer known.
Those who knew her lay in pastures beside her.

Rest in peace Mother May,
the Lord is with thee.

[billy]

As her epitaph four photographs
colours of yellow, blue, pink and green. Nadda else.
Vanity.
The only beauty she wanted shown.
For on gravestone who can truly see, through a few choice words, the soul beneath it?
Who can see beyond the cement?
So why not show something beautiful?
Or at least the only time she was beautiful in her eyes?

Four photographs of youth, thick black lips and dark eyeliner.
She was unwilling to show the rotting, decompsing regret of her life.
She was unwilling to tell, in a few choice words, how her partner was an adulterer,
how her children flew the nest, how her mother died when she was twenty-one,
the only true relatives she had.

Four photographs that let you observe the true sadness of her eyes.
Four photos that as a writer would be the only way to expose her soul.
One whom could bare all on a blanket of posies, planted six-feet above her.
The tears wept are wept for a seventeen year old, at a time in her life when vanity mattered.
This was a time when children and cars and bills and the dress she wore on her wedding day paid no relevance.

A hazy dream, the shadows of a nightmare beautifully painted in a captured image
and when the gravestone wears away and falls, when mother nature pulls her body from the ground
there will be no choice words that she will miss,
only a face, only an image, of a girl no longer known.
Those who knew her lay in pastures beside her.

Rest in peace Mother May,
the Lord is with thee.

i see a purple pic but not a pink one. (am i colour blind?) will leave a full reply later as i'm gonna have a bath and do some more work on that pesky side bar, mainly the about this site box.

[LiteraryAntiquity]

As her epitaph four photographs
colours of yellow, blue, pink and green. Nadda else.
Vanity.
The only beauty she wanted shown.
For on gravestone who can truly see, through a few choice words, the soul beneath it?
Who can see beyond the cement?
So why not show something beautiful?
Or at least the only time she was beautiful in her eyes?

Four photographs of youth, thick black lips and dark eyeliner.
She was unwilling to show the rotting, decompsing regret of her life.
She was unwilling to tell, in a few choice words, how her partner was an adulterer,
how her children flew the nest, how her mother died when she was twenty-one,
the only true relatives she had.

Four photographs that let you observe the true sadness of her eyes.
Four photos that as a writer would be the only way to expose her soul.
One whom could bare all on a blanket of posies, planted six-feet above her.
The tears wept are wept for a seventeen year old, at a time in her life when vanity mattered.
This was a time when children and cars and bills and the dress she wore on her wedding day paid no relevance.

A hazy dream, the shadows of a nightmare beautifully painted in a captured image
and when the gravestone wears away and falls, when mother nature pulls her body from the ground
there will be no choice words that she will miss,
only a face, only an image, of a girl no longer known.
Those who knew her lay in pastures beside her.

Rest in peace Mother May,
the Lord is with thee.

i see a purple pic but not a pink one. (am i colour blind?) will leave a full reply later as i'm gonna have a bath and do some more work on that pesky side bar, mainly the about this site box.

No, you're right! My bad...Sleep deprived!

[billy]

As her epitaph four photographs does it need a comma after 'epitaph'?
colours of yellow, blue, pink and green. Nadda else. is 'colours' needed?
Vanity.
The only beauty she wanted shown.
For on gravestone who can truly see, through a few choice words, the soul beneath it? 'a' after 'on' or 'gravestones'
Who can see beyond the cement?
So why not show something beautiful?
Or at least the only time she was beautiful in her eyes?

Four photographs of youth, thick black lips and dark eyeliner.
She was unwilling to show the rotting, decompsing regret of her life. decomposing
She was unwilling to tell, in a few choice words, how her partner was an adulterer,
how her children flew the nest, how her mother died when she was twenty-one,
the only true relatives she had.

Four photographs that let you observe the true sadness of her eyes.
Four photos that as a writer would be the only way to expose her soul.
One whom could bare all on a blanket of posies, planted six-feet above her.
The tears wept are wept for a seventeen year old, at a time in her life when vanity mattered.
This was a time when children and cars and bills and the dress she wore on her wedding day paid no relevance.

A hazy dream, the shadows of a nightmare beautifully painted in a captured image
and when the gravestone wears away and falls, when mother nature pulls her body from the ground
there will be no choice words that she will miss,
only a face, only an image, of a girl no longer known.
Those who knew her lay in pastures beside her.

Rest in peace Mother May,
the Lord is with thee.

some great great lines. i think it needs some work on the grammar but i'm no expert lol.
maybe even a little on the enjambment but another really good write. this and the paper planes are extremely well written for me. your style feels prose poetry but with the language you use it works a treat.
thanks for the LA.

i forgot to say;
for me the last two lines don't work that well, in that they make the poem weaker. (all jmo)