The Amaranth symbolises immortality



Another wife has died to be remembered

at a funeral attended by few.

I was not present, it would not have been decent.

She was ninety-four.


Such a beautiful child she was,

when I observed her from afar.

I was grateful, a quarter century later, I was not recognised

when she became my wife.

So hard to abandon her after five-and-twenty years.

Her tears, I never saw, but I felt each one fall.


There have been so many through the centuries.

Hearts broken, uncounted except by me.

With each one I cleaved my own heart

promising this one would be the last.


Often it was — for a generation. 

But the curse of needing someone fermented

until resistance diminished.


To see a lover grow old and wither is hard.

To see your children and grandchildren

age and die is a sight impossible to bear.


Living for centuries knowing sweet death will

never come calling creates a madness

that cools to purest sanity.


I am a wraith, running, hiding.

Changing to avoid being prodded and burned

and in times so hard to disappear, ever inventive.

My miracle must remain undiscovered.

© Guaj 2023
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To see a lover grow old and wither is hard.
To see your children and grandchildren
age and die is a sight impossible to bear.

Such beautiful lines.

The average male life expectancy in the UK is 79 years. Even in this spell the ebb and flow of life and death, all their colours, are almost unbearable, but we bear them because we have, or the hope of having, love.


about these beautiful lines, I remember a rather interesting female site owner here who is also an activist, make this profound observation that there is no language that has a word for a parent that lost a child (like we say widow/widower or orphan), that even languages are speechless on the matter.


I was interested to read about your grandparents’ longevity. My mother died at 97 years of age and I hope to maintain the tradition.
Good poem BTW.

Last edited 2 years ago by ionicus

An eternity alone may be preferable to the agony of seeing loved ones lost.
My type of poem, exploring other concepts, time and space etc.


I always thought to live forever would be the cruellest curse, I have no desire to live as old as my mother almost 93. I consider life is like a party. We arrive all dressed up and ready to have a great time. We embrace the moment and try to do so with gusto. However, at some point the music gets too loud, the drunks boring, feet hurt and a dawning desire to go home. I suppose I am somewhere along the lines of the situation becoming a tad wearisome interspersed with bursts of enthusiasm for one last dance (or… Read more »

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