13

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Once again, the product of working a nightshift rears up! This has actually been on my mind for a long time and I wanted to make sure I articulated it as well as I can. Only time and opinion will answer that question....

Submitted: September 24, 2008

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Submitted: September 24, 2008

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Young boy thirteen,
When in December ’95,
Everything was fine,
Last time you saw her alive.
No-one could have known,
There were no warning signs,
You kissed her goodbye,
Nothing made it different that time.
It all went OK,
The self-same routine,
What made a difference that day?
Young boy thirteen.
 
 
 
Young boy thirteen,
It tore the family apart,
You needed to mourn,
Never knew where to start.
They were so busy,
Consoling themselves,
To take that much notice,
Of you in need their help.
Too young to understand,
Let it all be a bad dream,
As when you needed a hand,
You’re on your own it would seem,
Young boy thirteen.
 
 
 
 
Young boy thirteen,
I’ll look after you now,
Of every-one else,
I’m the best one who knows how.
You’re doing much better,
The smile’s back on your face,
Darkness has lifted,
Put you in a much better place.
When things get too much,
If you’re feeling alone,
And the support that you need,
Won’t be given at home,
I’m here.
Young boy thirteen.


© Copyright 2020 Jak Sylvian. All rights reserved.

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