Why

Writing a good thing is hard

Why?

Why?

I ask myself the very same question

A one worded question that branches off into infinite answers

The word slips past my lips like smooth silk,

It tastes like rusty metal,

Like blood.

It fills my mind, bouncing off the walls of my skull

R e v e r b e r a t i n g

W h y?

I can hear the screams of my father

He is pleading to the lord above

He calls out saying,

“Lord, I beg of you. I beg that you allow my children to see their end,

because I’m afraid I will not.

With arms raised to the sky

His oldened face covered in tears and blood

W  h  y  ?

I can hear the cries of my mother

Her hands were always so gentle when they held my own,

but on that night those hands were taken to the sky.

I try not to imagine what it must’ve been like…

I try not to imagine every

snap of her bones

every beautiful tear she cried

every farewell that tore through her lungs

because she was worried her heart wouldn’t be loud enough.

I imagine my mothers broken body

She is caught claws made of metal shrapnels

She is in the clutches of DEATH

She lays on black asphalt

My father’s once strong arms tremble

They hold my mother’s limp and bloody body

and a cold metal gun

There are men who come to assess the wreckage

and as they lift my mother’s body off of his own,

he says,

“I’m sorry.”

They ask,

“W   h   y   ?”

But  he’s  already  taken  to  the  sky.

Reviews

[Nicole Schuster]

Talent and beauty expressed in these words. Wonderful and thought provoking, smart and feeling-evoking

did u see that poetry there ahhahahaha im better than u booboo jk