on death

An angsty piece pondering death.

i'm trying to remember
what it was my ten year old self thought
or understood of death and
its permenance. i remember being scared
when they took Pop to hospital
because people died in hospital
all the time. and i thought,
in my childhood innocence,
that nobody escaped that prison

alive i remember when he got
better and came home,
back to Granny where he belonged
and everything was different,
everyone was different,
except my Granny and my Poppy

what i don't remember is
whether i was eight or nine
or ten or eleven or maybe
i was even twelve but i don't
think so. what i don't quite know
is whether she'll be okay
if i leave her now,
aged almost ten.

Author's Note

All constructive criticism is welcome, but please bear in mind that this poem's improper capitalisation is deliberate. Thanks for reading and reviewing!