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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: May 08, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 08, 2017



Some of my loved ones are still alive,

although I have to admit, on ocaasion I wonder, 

what the world would be without them, it makes me sick.

It's natual to think, as I can only guess,

how that space will never be filled, a void growing from silence, dark and shrill;

and, how much I would miss them,

how it's me instead, wishing I had been killed,

not them,

truth spoken in jest,

by time, fate or circumstance, just to know they didn't have to leave from here,

had one more chance, one more hug and kiss.

So I tell them,

I Love You

everyday, to the point, letting go of fear.

Sometimes, its my Dad who says it first and, I reciprocate, same with my Mom, although it's weird, for me, she sometimes waits. But, I do say it and she the same, even as she walks away, because I know of the inevitable; that I wish my heart could delay.  My brother, I say it, not as often as I would like, although sometimes you think the other person knows, wishing we could say it more, that how the love grows and pierces like a spike.  Same with my aunts and uncles, cousins and other kin, my grandparents long gone, in my dreams I speak to them. 

Or, I try not think about it all, embracing the moment, pride coming becoming before the fall.

For, I know that nothing lasts last forever, except Light and Love; I try to escape this future darkness, floating over it all.

Knowing the pleasure of pain,

from below and above, 

we tell ourselves things, like, we will come back one day,

we will see each other again, in love.

 Together, forever we shall soon stay; or 

heaven is promised, perhaps if we will find ourselves again in the unknown,

but, as sure as my blood is honest and with all the strength in my bones,

I will not lay down yet, and neither will they,

nor will I know,

when when my laying down will be forvever,

patience and faith,

it grows, pulling the wool over my eyes;

how clever I suppose, I choose to celebrate their life,

but I can't shun our demise, their love forever recognized.

I just tell them how much I love them, whenever I can,

because tomorrow is promised to no one, no woman or man.

And, if I may read this , long after they have passed,

just as you may read this long after I've gone,  

choose to love always,


first and last.

We never really know death,

falling away to that unknown,

our love we chase,

creep it up,

and embrace,

with every living  breath,

blood and bone.














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