Poetry Collection

48. To: John

This story takes place

Some time in New York City

In the year of 

Ninteen hundred and eighty.

It was a warm December day

The eighth to be exact

Little did you know

This day would be your last.

In the morning you were singing

Without a care

In the evening all of the gunshots

Had made you scared.

You just started a new life

With your wife and child

Also getting to know your older son

All the while.

You were starting over

In your career as well

Your album was definitiely

Going to sell.

But in the blink of an eye

Thanks to a man named Chapman

At eleven o' seven PM

We had lost a great man.

Your blood-stained glasses

Still haunt me to this day

Why did your life

Have to end this way?

So many people

Have missed you to this day

Imagining what it would be like

If you were here today.

Your music is played

Every chance that it can

To spread your universal message:

"Give Peace a Chance"

We miss you, John Lennon

And we always will

But we really wish

That you were with us still.