Jeffrey Hull

The Coin

The face a woman, goddess fair, her hair
Bound back, imperial, her gaze aloof,
With flowing gauzes gowned, as Vestals wear,
Their sacred modesty beyond reproof;
This golden coin was always by his breast,
Suspended from his memory's silver chain.
His life was by this token ever blest,
With well remembered love, forgotten pain,
'Til standing then at last upon the shore
Where Charon, oarsman grim, demands his piece
The new-made shade can smile; she gave him more
Than ever she could know, and now, release.
His body gone, a spirit now afloat
He yields the coin, and steps into the boat.


© 2005 Jeffrey Hull

Well, Jeff this is why I went out and bought a book on forms. This is elegaical and tough at the same time. A wonderfull narrative and a touch of reality, well, maybe more than a touch! Nice work!

Thanks!

One consolation of age is a mental attic full of material for reflection. Working through the medium of poetry (or whatever artistic endeavor) we are led to see things in new ways that can lead to perhaps personal growth, or certainly to come to peace with things that happened back in the day. Now that "the statute of limitations" has run on a lot of things in life, it is time to look back and enjoy the good parts, learn from and let go of the painful ones.

The jack of hearts will be my token.

M