In her world of in between,
another life of hers, she dreams.
This place, herein, not life, but sin,
she clings to dreams that were.

This shade of grey where she exists,
this other world, a dark abyss,
she’s made to hear eternally,
the echoes of the past.

He comes each day, to see her grave,
her touch, her voice, he sadly craves.
Her ghostly touch, unfelt, unseen,
his tears fall in the dust.

Her silent tears, unheeded fall.
Her soft caress, not felt at all.
This living hell she’s forced to dwell,
decidedly deserved.

As he knelt in deep lament,
his crying stopped, his sorrow spent,
a feather touch, a chilling kiss,
a message from the grave.

That wistful touch upon his cheek
renewed, unguarded, he did weep.
As soft as petals in the wind,
she made her presence known.



© 2016, RissRyker518. All rights reserved.
The author has granted WritersCarnival.ca, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.

Author Notes

11 Comments for “Wistful”

Raymond Tobaygo


Good afternoon, Riss

Sad, haunting poem. You can feel the heartbreak of one who misses life and the unfulfilled hopes that are now bitter regrets. Well done!

Take care and stay safe,


Anisa Claire


Chilling… I enjoyed this piece a lot. It started off as maybe being a situation she was in morally, but ended with a twist. Great job.


Tim Hillebrant


A very nice, hauntingly beautiful piece, Lisa.
I liked the way you constructed this.




Thank you, Tim. While walking in the cemetery one day, i saw a young man kneeling by a grave touching the stone. It was very touching and when i went home, I wrote this.

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