The Moving Image

Genre: Contemporary, Poem (R-PG)

If you’ve seen the essay entitled Dear Friend it will probably occur to you that this is yet another poem that I wrote shortly after my beloved pet died. Some people think its a poor attempt, others love it, but I’m not a dedicated poetry writer, and it served its purpose at the time, helping me to focus my thoughts and feelings. I had experienced grief before, of course, but at such a young age as to be vague in my memory and holding something while it dies in your arms needs no justification of feelings. Alas, since then, I have lost people close to me, and oddly enough I realise the poems I wrote at that time count as much for anyone grieving. Peace.

Come to my theatre.
See the film that
plays endlessly
to a silent audience.
They sit zombified,
petrified with shock —
witnesses to my emotions.

I try to change the billing,
put in some happy thoughts,
memories of the good times;
but all I see are
your last moments
playing over and over
in the cinema of my mind.

Holding you, talking to you,
hoping you understood
that this was for the best.
Hoping you were aware
of my own intolerable pain,
so that you knew this was mercy —
something I did purely out of love.

© Sharon Maria Bidwell, all rights reserved.

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