Fragments of Death

A beloved rocking chair
is rocking, taciturnly,
with nobody in it.

White dust, gray ash
are covering
a once-loved bookcase.

Smiling faces
are rotting
in a photo album.

Letters never sent
are piling up
on a wooden desk.

A black crow
is resting his claws
on a cemetery stone.


~J.V.Harker~
~Friday 1 May 2009~
~Edited Thursday 4 June 2009~