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death
| Open Poetry #1 |
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death |
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Ammo New Member
since 1999-06-15
Posts 1 |
AARRON We were such good friends not long ago, so much alike they said. I was coming to see you didn't you know, but now it's all over, your dead. Faces of sorrow awoke me that morning, filled with tears, colored red. The words flew from their mouths like arrows, poisened with the message, your dead. What to feel, what to think, I lay still, stunned in my bed. I can't comprehend it even now, I can't take the news that your dead. Then it hit me like a bolt of lightning, discharged from the squall in my head. I felt it ripping me up inside, the reaction to the message, your dead. 'It is all right' 'It is fair to cry', I don't want that it is too late. I pushed everything away including my sorrow, all I have left is hate. Things were a blur as the hate took control, covering my sight I was blind. It stings and burns even today, Though I can't push it out of my mind. But not one tear ever graced my cheek, for hate has other effects. My insides boil with the heat of anger, while persona goes on unchecked. The loathing cuts out my interior, leaving me empty inside. That day took away what innocence I had, no wonder I never cried. I looked upon your lifeless form, bruised, broken and cold. You lay there a battered body, no soul, all that was there was your mold. Death is inevitable so I'm told, but it shoudn't have been this way. You were so young, it wasn't your fault, who decided you should pay? As we carried you from the house of God, the one who took you away. I shivered as I peered into your grave, I hate that black, joyless day. And still no tears to blend with the crowd, I couldn't, try as I might. I clasped a handful of the earth, and threw it on your coffin in spite. What was right about taking your life? They all prayed to a God up above. But it was the one that took you away, be sure it's no God I'll ever love. I will never forget that harrowing day, the day you had to die. I'm sorry cousin, the worlds a dump, and I didn't say goodbye. I can never again see your face, only grass and engraved cement. Your body lies deep under the ground, while I am left to lament. The story is in, the message spelt out, all I can see is red. I abhor the days since I had to hear, the news that you are dead. [This message has been edited by Ammo (edited 06-16-99).] |
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| © Copyright 1999 Ammo - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Alain DeLaCendres Member
since 1999-07-02
Posts 119Ohio |
Ammo,one of the greatest pains anyone of us endures is the death of a relative or friend,your poem is nicely done, and very touching. But somehow you must find a way to rid yourself of the hate and go on to enjoy what is left of YOUR life. Dont blame God it wasnt him who took your friend away it was Satan and his evil cohorts. mankind blames it on God for their own sanity. God is not that cruel and hateful. Only Satan... if you blame God then Satan wins twice--once with your friend soul in death , and then again with your soul in life (because it will be destroyed by the hate.) |
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JANNA Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 51arlington, tx usa |
Boy was this a strong message. It was very well written and very disturbing at the same time. I often wonder how I would cope with a loved one's death, and I have doubts about my sanity if I couldn't believe God was there to take care of their soul. I just hope you can forgive Him and know that your cousin is living on in a better place. |
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Christina Myers Member
since 1999-06-21
Posts 159 |
I'm not about to lecture you on how you should feel about God. You have every right to feel what you feel. We wouldn't be human if we didn't question everything/anything at one time or another... I will say though that the poem is strong- wrapped in an innocent rhyme that nonetheless brings its pain and tortured message home. There are some very excellent lines in this piece that even after reading, stick in my head. Bravo on a job well done. -Christina ------------------ And I thought: this is how poetry is born. It comes from invisible heights, it is secret and dark in its origins, solitary and fragrant, and like the river it will assimilate whatever falls in its current; it will seek a route between the mountains, and its crystalline song will ripple through the meadows."- Pablo Neruda |
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