Soul, a poem by Charlie Williamson at



written by: Charlie Williamson


From beyond the grave, I feel her:
She looks like me and she sounds like me,
With the same memories, spinning, spun,
And interwoven like the rays of the rising sun.

Two pairs of melting, fixed and fixated
Eyes upon each other, seemingly alive
Between dancing irises time lurches through the grey,
Flowing from the present, to the future far away.

She speaks and at the same time doesn’t,
I think. She is close, cold but suddenly too far.
In an imagined long-overdue embrace
Against my cheek her pallor drains my face.

Her loneliness creeps into my heart, that beats
With an embarrassing solemnity and the absurdity
Almost makes me sigh. A forlorn tear escapes
From one of us, carving into the skin as it reshapes.

Behold the grave, a jagged unnatural landmark,
Unmistakably the most natural tragedy,
As this tragic death is etched into her pain,
That echoes a carmine, pooling champagne.

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