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On Chris's Death
by Keisha L Cones
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Not rated by the Author.
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The most passionate poem I ever wrote about my suicidal friend, the one that most adequately described how his death made me feel. |
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My hair is short
I hate my body
Can’t seem to remember
What you told me
Death is coming
Death is near
Something burning
Smell of fear
I hated Him
But not you
Our lives are told
By what we do
Perhaps you tried
A show to tell
Souls afire
Dark Father’s Hell
Churning, crunching
Hungers blazed
Could have stopped
A child not saved
Who’s to blame
Our world, our lies
Gods or evil
Nature denies
Look to accept
Never found
Held fascination
Tightly wound
Who put the
Gun up to your head?
Who pulled the trigger,
Live or Dead?
Mother’s pride
Fallen
Waiting for her only calling
Crimson mask
Eyes raised
To honor a God
Uncertainly praised
Room for forgiveness?
Room for salvation?
Pity a race
Unworthy of Creation
Perhaps a mistake;
Creation of man
Species of destruction
By mortal hand
Reach for answers
Grasp only air
Reach for person
No longer there
Love, lies,
Life, hate
Given a chance
Realized too late
Nothing now
Time forgot
Unable to remember
What thou shalt not
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| Reviewed by Joyce Bell |
7/11/2010 |
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| YOUR SHORT DARK LINES, YET FILLED WITH EMOTION, 'SKETCH' THE TRAGEDY OF LOSING A FRIEND...AND WONDERING WHY? WELL DONE. THANKS FOR SHARING, LOVE AND BLESSINGS. |
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