"...Pray For Us Sinners Now, And at the Hour of Our Death..."

Reads: 230  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 3

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A young person's account of the death of a loved one.

(I promise it is not your typical teen-angst, gothic, death-is-everywhere thing, just... check it out for yourself.)

Submitted: June 02, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 02, 2008

A A A

A A A


“…Pray for us sinners now,
And at the hour of our death…”


I sit and stare
Mirrored opposite me sits a row of stale-orange leather,
broken only by a single, solid mass
of wood that I dare not crack open.
Paralysed by my own fear of reality
I concentrate on the steady rhythm within me

DA-DUM.
DA-DUM.
DA-DUM.


Each of these chairs have witnessed a history of fates.
Now, it witnesses mine;
Or, more accurately – His.
Surrounded by bodies and totally alone
I remember

When I was four.
To me, he was a role-model, mentor and father.
To me, he was a paternal pain in the ass.
Constant teasing; constant torment
were the products of his love,
with my rebellious taste in football clubs.
The nature of the Tease was driven by fun.
Fun. No more Fun.

The gulf between us is too great to cross now,
Barricaded by this soundproof door.
The sounds within me scream in vain
Smothered and suppressed behind my dumbstruck mask.
Smothered and suppressed behind the varnished guard
are His screams of torture.

My torment; nothing
compared to his fatherly pain –

The pain of knowing.

Knowing you’ll never feel another sunrise.
Knowing you’ll never see another spring.
Knowing you’ll never breathe another breath.
No more.

My final memory of that night will echo
inside me for all eternity,

“Laura…”


© Copyright 2017 atwoz. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

Comments

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Unknown

avatar

Author
Reply