Lukeman Exercise 2 | Katrina Cox

I usually go out of my way to avoid using colons in my writing, whether writing prose or poetry. I chose an exerise that had me look at an ending of one of my writings and try ending it with a colon. The difference was absolutely stunning! When I used a colon at the end, I also revised some of the words as well.

Original:

I remember standing at the coffin side, my Uncle Sean from my mother’s side of the family gazing at me in sympathy. His eyes held so much concern, so much sorrow. He looked so miserable at the helplessness of the situation. He, too, looked so old. The shine had left his clear blue eyes, leaving his normally beautiful eyes hard and dead. He reflected the attitude of the flowers. He reflected how I was so dead inside as I gazed in numbness at that horrible coffin. The wind tangled my hair in every direction and chilled my insides. My fingers were a pale purple and all feeling from my knees down had been lost. My nose was deepening to a fine crimson color and tears strained my exhausted and sore eyes. I just stared at the sealed lid. I just stared at the cruel flowers. I stared. I barely heard myself as my lips uttered those hollow words that still haunt me these many years later. Those words, which made me into the young poet and novelist I am. Those words, which gave me another area of fine arts that Granni was so proud of before Gramps passed away. Those horrible, horrible words. The tears flowed freely then. I didn’t even bother to raise my hand and wipe them away. They just streamed from my red eyes and down my frozen cheeks, finally dripping to the dead, frozen earth. They froze instantly, marking the spot where the one who so greatly lifted the family up would lie after the viewing the following morning. Those icy words…those horrible, horrible words.

“God, be with you until we meet again. I love you, Gramps.”


With using a colon:

I remember standing at the coffin side, my Uncle Sean from my mother’s side of the family gazing at me in sympathy. His eyes held so much concern, so much sorrow. He looked so miserable at the helplessness of the situation. He, too, looked so old. The shine had left his clear blue eyes, leaving his normally beautiful eyes hard and dead. He reflected the attitude of the flowers. He reflected how I was so dead inside as I gazed in numbness at that horrible coffin. The wind tangled my hair in every direction and chilled my insides. My fingers were a pale purple and all feeling from my knees down had been lost. My nose was deepening to a fine crimson color and tears strained my exhausted and sore eyes. I just stared at the sealed lid. I just stared at the cruel flowers. I stared. The tears flowed freely; I didn’t even bother to raise my hand and wipe them away. They just streamed from my red eyes and down my frozen cheeks, finally dripping to the dead, frozen earth. They crystalized instantly, marking the spot where the one who so greatly lifted the family up would lie after the viewing the following morning. I barely heard myself utter the words that meant he was truly gone. The words that have continued to haunt me throughout these many years: “God, be with you until we meet again. I love you, Gramps.”