Seraphine's Poem

She walks the border between heartbeats and silence,
a widow draped in the scent of smoke and memory.
Two men claim her soul—
one buried beneath her name,
the other still drawing breath just beyond her reach.

The first built her a home of trembling light,
a family carved from fragile hope.
But he could not bear his own reflection,
and his sorrow became a storm
that swallowed the both of them whole.

The other—
the older,
the one with eyes like midnight fire—
is the man Seraphine would burn her own life to keep warm.
He wears his grief like a crown,
and when he looks at her,
he sees the ghost of a promise neither dared to speak.

They are bound by death’s cruel symmetry—
two survivors of the same tragedy,
tied by a whisper that lingers between worlds.
At night, she feels her husband’s breath in the cold,
his shadow curling around the man who still stands beside her,
as if even the grave cannot bear to let her go.

Love is a haunting that does not end,
a pulse beneath the coffin lid,
a sigh shared between the living and the lost.
She does not belong to the dead nor the living—
only to the space between,
where sorrow wears his face,
and desire still answers when she calls.

Chloe