End Of The World

3 Comments

Tags:
  • Death
  • ,
  • Loss
    • wiskeygirl5090
    • I've been gone for quit some time but I'm back and ready to write more poetry.

    End Of The World

    Why did you have to leave,
    You didnt have to go you know,
    I guess God had plans for you
    That were out of our control.
    You were so young
    You were just beging life
    Now you just stoped at.....
    Chapter 21.

    That dam bike
    Why didn't you listen,
    For once Kayla didn't say "NO"
    You were so proud of that bike,
    The first thing you bought on your own,
    At least you got to go
    The way you always said you wanted to.

    My heart is so broken inside,
    I've watched our family fall apart.
    Your momma saw you on the ground
    With nothing but a white sheet
    That told the story that you were gone.

    Grandma is doing better now,
    She writes you a letter every night,
    After all you were her first grand baby.

    We burried you just a little over 3 month ago,
    And now I know why they say
    Good bye is the hardest thing to have to say.

    I dont understand how the world can go on
    How the wind countues to blow,
    The snow still falls,
    Dont they know its the end of the world,
    It ended that day that lady hit you
    While you were on your way to get
    A part for your car.



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    Insideme commented on End Of The World

    01-15-2010

    I know that I just read some real poetry, it made me cry and when you feel something that strongly from reading it means that it is a part of the authors soul and not just witty words. I like it, good poem.

    Teardrops commented on End Of The World

    01-11-2010

    we never understand death and when they are young it seems evem more impossible

    SinnerSaint commented on End Of The World

    01-11-2010

    This is a very personal poem, its hard to say anything else, but I loved the way you spoke to him, thats apart of the ehaling process. All the things we leave unsaid, but I believe you said it best here.

    Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.

    T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

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