That Day

It was in the summer, the 17th of July.
A sunny day it was.
I should have been cheerful,
Laughing all day.
Outside with friends,
Playing away.

Instead, on the steps of a funeral home I sat.
Lost in my own mind.
In there I saw never ending darkness.
Monsters of my own creation,
Jumped out at me.
"It's your fault", they whispered.
And I tearfully agreed.

The rugged path went on forever,
Far into the distance,
long past where I could see.
Barefoot I was there,
sharp rocks cutting into me.

The pain hurt,
 but I endured.
It felt like something I had earned,
Something I deserved.
The metallic scent stung my nose,
But that was fine with me, too.

I threw myself into the branches,
Of the thorny honey locust tree.
It had no leaves,
Its bark was a burnt, dark ebony.

The wind whipped my hair across my face,
The branches following close.
"Hahhh...", I half laughed and half cried,
as tears, poured from my eyes.

Stuck here in my mind I was...
Circling through and back again.
I wanted something to grasp onto,
Something to anchor me down.
My hands just grasped,
Cold thin air.
It's funny how I tried,
When I knew I would fail.

It was in the summer, the 17th of July.
That day... gone was my life.

Author's Note

Why do I get so much inspiration for dark poems?!?!?

-Thanks, Lysta

Reviews

[Doug Scibeck]

A vivid and touching insight into the experience of loss.

[Lysta]

Thank you for your review! ^^

-Lysta