Fading Out Poem by Glenn Bagshaw

When she died pretty sunsets were met
by grief. 'A spade of dirt sinks beauty's force,
so weak it left only her picture set
now fading on my shelf, ' Poor love's no course
to steadfastness- Thoughts with shock in coming
and going by madness: distraught, wits tossed;
I tried to still love her music, humming,
dear singing. Notes dropped as every tune's lost.
This ends silently... Scream's in me, ' Hope dies!
look! see! hear what each sick tragedy sighs!
no stage-lit duels, nor Icarian skies-
ditto death as Trojan cry- lies, all lies!
We're fabled in photos but who'll recall,
just beyond briefly, if we lived at all? '


















When she died every sunset brought regret
of beauty and only gravity's force
then wouldn't yield, but held her picture, set
for years, on my shelf- Physics will law its course
to steadfastness- while we-on then coming
will fail. We flinch, distraught, with wits all tossed;
although we love someone with music, humming
or singing- soon they're echoes. Tunes are lost.
She died and quiet screamed as closing eyes
had drapped her life. Our ragged tragedy then sighs-
not dainty duels, nor Icarian skies,
no Trojan walls that slide- grand lies are lies!
We're fabled in photos but who'll recall
bits beyond briefly if we lived at all?











When she died pretty sunsets were met
by grief. 'A spade of dirt sinks beauty's force,
so weak it left only her picture set
now fading on my shelf, ' Poor love's no course
to steadfastness- Thoughts with shock in coming
and going by madness: distraught, wits tossed;
I tried to still love her music, humming,
dear singing. Notes dropped as every tune's lost.
This ends silently... Scream's in me, ' Hope dies!
look! see! hear what each sick tragedy sighs!
no stage-lit duels, nor Icarian skies-
ditto death as Trojan cry- lies, all lies!
We're fabled in photos but who'll recall,
just beyond briefly, if we lived at all?

When she died pretty sunsets were met
by grief. 'A spade of dirt sinks beauty's force,
so weak it left only her picture set
now fading on my shelf, ' Poor love's no course
to steadfastness- Thoughts with shock in coming
and going by madness: distraught, wits tossed;
I tried to still love her music, humming,
dear singing. Notes dropped as every tune's lost.
This ends silently... Scream's in me, ' Hope dies!
look! see! hear what each sick tragedy sighs!
no stage-lit duels, nor Icarian skies-
ditto death as Trojan cry- lies, all lies!
We're fabled in photos but who'll recall,
just beyond briefly, if we lived at all? '