The Soul In The Underworld

You don’t know how someone feels until it’s too late. Imagine… A boy that’s bullied by the popular kids, looked down on by the girls, shouted at by the teacher. You have no idea what he feels.

The Soul In The Underworld

 

By the time you read this all will be lost.

You tilt your head and grieve but,

That will not heal the broken minds.

You cannot repair the fractured cells!

You cannot fix the slightest mistakes.

And you cannot stop the future.

Stop. Stop and stare at the blank chair,

This used to be filled by a soul.

A young and creative mind

Until he decided to take it away

To the underworld of justice.

He only wanted to be happy,

To have friends and family,

Who stood by him,

But not anymore,

His soul is lost,

To the underworld…

The Soul In The Underworld!

Author's Note

This is my first poem so please don't hate :)

Reviews

[Nolo Segundo]

I don't hate your poem, Connor-- it actually shows considerable promise. You write of suicide without glorifying the act; and as one who survived an attempt in his 20's, I can affirm you are right to call it a '...soul in the Underworld'-- self-murder leads to a place more terrible than anyone in our world of sunshine and daylight can possibly imagine. There is no escape from one's self, from one's endless soul-- whether it is God or Karma or the Universe which decrees such, I cannot say.