Broken Promises (Trio of Poems)

My friend and I decided to give each other prompts to right on and this is the prompt I was given:

"You must write three poems - because I like three's - all more or less about the same event from different perspectives. This event should be something you don't like writing about - a death is preferred, but a slightly minor tragedy like a fire or tornado is acceptable. ^_^

As to the perspectives - only one may be angry/sarcastic/bitter/jaded/that type of thing. The second must feel some other way about the tragedy. The third perspective must either be a characterless description of the event (just reporting the facts, ma'am ^_^) or a description from an inanimate object's point of view."

Here are the poems that I wrote for this. Feel free to comment on things that need to be improved upon and fixed. They're not as good as they could be, and I need to learn to make my ideas more concise, but at least these drafts are a start. :)

Perspective 1:

Left and right steps mar the floor,

The steady clack of thoughts dripping

Through my conscious. So many promises

She had concocted and I, the circus clown,

Believed them. It’s funny how fast

Promises forget themselves, suffer

Amnesia and drown in a world of doubt.

They become fossils, shells of what once

Had been that will never be resurrected.

Left and right, the days crept by, nothing

More than shadows that waxed and

Waned on the linoleum floor. The steady

Clack of shoes drifted from a hospital

Room, where dead spirits linger, whispering

Porcelain promises and drowning in death.

Perspective 2 (Reaper):

Tendrils of life breathed death

Into the air, minor threads of silver

Drawn out of moonlight. Bone bred

Withered bone, and the Reaper emerged

With nothingness trailing him.

Another silent night—God, how dreary

When the only color comes from the

Feverish tears of the moon.

Another hospital room—they always

Smelled of old people and sickness.

Another life to take—why never to give?

Give a year or a day, watch the calendar

Wink while he’s not looking and whoops

Another decade has slipped by unaware—

Give a chance, a gift, a smile,

A universal sign of understanding.

Roses withered as he passed—ah, the

Irony of wanting life and never receiving;

Of taking when intending to give—but that’s

Never how it works, is it? Time shifts

To accommodate his movements, the seconds

Scatter as he makes his way back from

The emptiness he became. Another night,

Another death; nothing more than broken promises.

Perspective 3 (A Rose):

Light through the drapes made patterns

Of love on the floor. Then again, what

Does a mere rose know about love? And

Yet there is a presence in this room, besides

The sickly bare bones and nausea of death.

My work is of beauty, but the most beautiful

Element of this room is not I. I am merely

A figurehead. I know the bleeding of silent

Tears, the shakiness of sighing breaths, the

Steadfast loyalty of unwavering spirits.

My petals die as seconds past, leavened by

Unbridled sadness of mourning, and a soft

Rain falls around me with a gentle hush

Of promises that will never come true.