These Days

These Days

A Poem by Oliver Free
"

This poem is something new that I tried.

"
On these days
I cannot sleep.
My mind drifts 
from place to place,
dream to dream,
and back again.

A hand extended
to a young boy
as sweet as honey,
longing for nothing
more than the warmth
of a soft touch.

A mother's hand,
perhaps,
is what the young boy
desired to hold.
Though wherever he
would go,
misfortune would shortly
follow suit.

The hand that the boy
held was of no mother's,
but instead,
all of his sorrows,
and his pain;
manifested as one being.

The young boy
knew of his grave mistake,
but regarded it little.
For he was used to
the pain, by now.

The bony hand,
attached to a certain
foul creature,
known as Death,
grasped the poor
young boy's shoulder.

Death had claimed
his youthful soul
in return for one thing,
and a simple thing at that.

The foolish young boy
had but one small request
to Death, as the air in his lungs
began to fade.

"My mother, you see,"
the boy explained,
"Never got to live
her life to the fullest
because of me."

"So, please,"
a single tear
dropped down the boy's
slender cheek.
"Just let her forget
about me."

Death chuckled,
though it did not seem so,
at the boy's strange request.
"Being forgotten
by those we loved
is a fate much worse
than death could ever be."

© 2016 Oliver Free


Author's Note

Oliver Free
Again, this is a bit different than my usual style, so I hope you all enjoy it.

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Added on December 20, 2016
Last Updated on December 20, 2016
Tags: Poem, introspection, dream, thoughtful, death

Author

Oliver Free
Oliver Free

Horsham, PA



About
I'm a 20 year old amateur writer. Poetry is my passion, and though I am certainly not the best, my only goal is to improve. Any support would be much appreciated! Thank you for reading my work. It mea.. more..

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