DEED (Narrative)

I recall her life full of pleasure and bliss

Those sweet mem’ries before I open the door

Now here I bow down to give her my last kiss

Oh, but why she doesn’t know me anymore?

 

Her sisters were there not to give sympathy

But to search for the proof she’s holding for years

In moment like this, don’t they have empathy?

Or do they really try not to shed their tears?

 

“Where’s the deed?  Where’s the proof?  Where’s the testament?”

Those hurting words from them instead of “Hello”

The murmurs and the rants, the blames and the vent

They already put her ‘bout six feet below.

 

Is it a grace fallen that her body's numb?

Could their judgment be answered by the poor dumb?

Author's Note

Which is more important, principle or relationship? blood or a piece of paper?
I saw those glaring eyes and the fingers pointing into her dying body...
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Narrative is a poem that tells a story.

Reviews

[Dhaye]

And she left the world with that "deed issue" unresolved...
May you rest in peace, my dearest Godmother.