Eve Hall’s poems (Still, Majestic, Resolutions)
have a way of getting to the elemental heart of a thing. This poem
continues that theme, albeit in a sadder context than her other work.
The nature of the discord is instantly clear to the reader, and the
sense of sad narration is palpable.
It’s Over
By Eve Hall
There is no love left in this house.
Our house is not a home.
It is full of shattered dreams,
Bad memories
Wasted hopes
Too many lies
Lonely days
Tearful nights
Hopeless tomorrows
And bitter yesterdays
No flames of life
Only the flicker of
Goodbye.
A great prose poem. Heartfelt.