My father holds my hand.
Cold,
and saddened,
he keeps me close.
Walking down the isle,
me dressed in black,
my mother too.
My father with tears on his face,
behind us,
keeping our pace.
We reach the seemingly threatening,
black
coffin and
for the first time in a while,
I cannot control
the droplets streaming
down my face.
My mother with a
stonecold face.
No emotions,
clear of sadness,
of grief,
of regret and loss.
I let myself be engulfed
in a hug by my dad.
And I don't hug back,
I just stare at the coffin that holds
my sister.
><><><><><><><><><><><><><
That one was shorter.
So the next one will probably in some sort of form.
Next chapter...
~liquidmoonlight74/Olympusaddict
YOU ARE READING
Darkest Times
PoetryYou might not have a difficult life, but millions of others do. They might seem like they're alone, but they're not. The darkest times of our lives are the ones that will stay with us forever.
