Carson's Story

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is a poem about a boy named Carson, who has a secret. It is your decision about what it it. Use clues in the poem to help you decided.

Submitted: February 20, 2011

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Submitted: February 20, 2011

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Carson’s Story

 

Carson’s face was like the stars,

bright and always happy.

The way his hair moved when he shook his head,

was like the gentle waves in the ocean.

He eyes were like the moon,

shinning and strong.

His clothes like a rainbow,

yellow, blue, and red.

His eyebrows like the mountains,

arched as he considered something.

 

He gave his heart to someone,

but that child lost it.

He gave his heart again,

and this child kept it.

She kept it in her room,

as large as a playing field.

She kept it close to her heart,

as close as it could go.

She gave her heart to him,

and he took it on his journey.

 

He left to travel the world,

like a spinning merry-go-round.

He came back one year later,

much the same about him.

But there was darkness too,

That  lingered behind his eyes.

Like a shadow,

ready to jump at anything.

He was quiet,

like a book that had its pages open.

 

He wouldn’t talk to anyone,

not a single soul.

He didn’t like to be alone,

so he kept me at his side.

The day we figured out his secret,

was the hardest day of all.

He had not way to tell us why,

so he just waved goodbye.

 

 

He came back home the very next day,

weariness showing on his face.

He slept that night in his bed,

with the little trucks and cars.

He slumber was as peaceful as a baby’s,

waking many times.

We asked him why he did these things,

but he had no words to try.

He woke again at twelve o’clock,

wandering like a ghost.

I took his hand and lead him back,

to that comforting room of his.

We let him sleep ‘till ten am,

then we played the game.

 

His fingers were as skinny as pencils,

cold like the ice that covered the lake.

He wouldn’t get in the car,

so we let him have his wish.

We let him sit so silently,

on that wooden bench.

We left him for just one second,

and figured out he had left.

 

He came back home just hours later,

collapsing on the floor.

He didn’t make one sound,

as we picked him off the ground.

His eyelids as heavy as raindrops,

hung closed on his eyes.

His mouth was one straight line,

ending like a segment.

His face was dirty and scratched,

barley his old one.

His hair unbrushed and messy,

like a raging storm at sea.

 

They hooked him to machines,

that beeped and buzzed annoyingly.

He did not wake that night,

nor the next nor the next.

He woke on his birthday, April 6,

and told us all goodbye.

He died that day,

October 12, 1996.

 

We held his ceremony,

one snowy day in December.

I remember staring at his face,

so calm and peaceful as he left.

We dressed him good,

for his big day.

The only sign that showed he left,

was the coldness in his hands.

 

I think back to that day,

and to his secret.

I remember him only before,

to keep the colorful image.

At night I gaze upon the photo,

the photo of us playing.

He ended his life so early,

aged only 26.

And only now I realize,

how much I truly loved him.


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