A Final Hymn // Poetry


Trees line the streets
of my memories,
of a time so long ago.

Images promenade past,
still-shots of a life that once
knew the words to intone.

Fragmented exhalations,
framed forever in wood,
never to be animated again.

A sky of liquid purple,
drips down on passages
of what once was my life.

An empty vase upon the sill,
a metaphor for existence.
Light shines through
and is forever changed.

Reflections smile back at me
through eyes that no longer see.
The hymn ends here…
on a sour chord.

Ann Christine Tabaka
Ann Christine Tabaka was nominated for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry, has been internationally published, and won poetry awards from numerous publications. She lives in Delaware, USA.  She loves gardening and cooking. Chris lives with her husband and two cats. I grew up with older brothers.  I was a complete Tomboy. When I reached my twenties, I realized how beautiful being a real woman was, and no longer needed my Tomboy persona.”

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