It's Still Life

Note: I wasn’t happy with this, so I’ve tinkered with the stanzas.

Only Ourselves, A Modern Sonnet

Someone said heaven is in these hills.
Valhalla, too, though it’s had its fill of
plundering a girl’s milk white flesh.

But last rites were said, forgive his mess,
him laid out flat, fingers interlaced as if
pleading, Please God take this restless soul.

I remember his wife’s haggard grief, tears
falling like leaf on leaf as he slept, and
that night she dreamt of a blue icy sea,

she, adrift on a majestic log that was
once a tree. She fell in love with sleep.
Scattered. Irregular. Stitched together.

Now she plays endless games of solitaire,
monotonous, but he’s no bother now.

---

(Old Version) Only Ourselves, A Contemporary Sonnet

Someone said heaven is in these hills.
Valhalla, too, though it’s had its fill
of plunderers and milky white flesh.
But last rites were said, forgive his mess,

him laid out flat, fingers interlaced as if
pleading, Please God take this childish soul.
I remember his wife’s haggard grief,
tears falling, leaf on leaf as he slept, and

that night she dreamt of a blue icy sea,
adrift on a majestic log that was
once a tree. She fell in love with sleep.
Scattered. Irregular. Stitched together.

Now she plays endless games of solitaire,
monotonous, but he’s no bother now.

---

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