Eve Hall's poems (Still, Majestic, Resolutions) have a way of getting to the elemental heart of a thing. This poem continues that theme, albeit in a sadder context than her other work. The nature of the discord is instantly clear to the reader, and the sense of sad narration is palpable.

It's Over

By Eve Hall

There is no love left in this house.

Our house is not a home.

It is full of shattered dreams,

Bad memories

Wasted hopes

Too many lies

Lonely days

Tearful nights

Hopeless tomorrows

And bitter yesterdays

No flames of life

Only the flicker of

Goodbye.

© Eve Hall 2009

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Sad, and too common a sentiment...