I went to my Mother's yesterday,
There's nothing left; she's wasted away,
The pain eating her from inside,
I'm surprised that she's still alive.
Her eyes are alive with queries,
That she can't ask; she's too weary,
The pain eats her from inside,
And still she hangs on...alive,
I remember when I was a child,
I remember looking up at her,
She'd hold my hand; give me hugs,
I felt I'd never lose her love,
An empty shell lying on the bed,
My Mother slept; Now she's dead,
The pain beat her from inside,
My Mother is no longer alive,
My Father holds my Mother's hand,
My sister's in tears; She wasn't here,
I can't believe that Mum has gone,
I feel...oh so alone.
YOU ARE READING
The Book of Dreams
PoetryFrom my first efforts to get published as a teenager, to some of the things I have thought about during University... experiences of Death and loss, as well as drunken poetry rambles. Poetry helps me to think about things that are happening in life...
