Eternal Freedom

Blank room, dim light,
Brightening those brown hues,
Following every imperfection in my skin,
Concern overwhelming, her eternal bruise

Her fingers grazing over my skin,
For her gentle touch wouldn’t be lasting,
Failing her subtle attempt to disguise
The pain, with agony was she crumbling.

Coldness spread, triggering her warm voice,
Clouded and faintly spoke she
Muttering under her breath,
Let it go, father, you are free.

^Source

^{Jeesh, wowza! I can't believe I actually wrote a poem myself - I think this is the very first one I wrote. I wrote this poem for the contest of @terrycraft of which's theme is Freedom. I guess it could be implemented in any way, so I chose the freedom you get once a person dies. Also, the structure of the poem goes as follows: Sight, touch, hearing. The losing sequence of senses of a dying person.}

Track your followers with SPECTACLES