Submissions ~ Page Onerevered father (suicide survivor)December 14, 2002i am here. i want to b in your arms i miss u I shed a tear. i see the thunderstorms. I want just one more rendezvous. i wanna smoke one more with you i wanna hear your voice i want to ignore your bad advice i rememeber you i have forgotten all the fights U told me to go I pushed you away I saw the crow I see the darkness I just want to turn on the lights I feel the cold I feel the frost I must confess I cry for my father i wish i could have been there i would have hidden the gun i would have told u i loved u i would have said i need u I would have said don't leave everyone. I would have given u one more hug i would have I should have I could have Father can't you hear me cry? Father can you hear me? Father can't u see? Father can u feel the cold? Father look at what you are doing to me. Father I am so alone. Father can you hear me scream? Father can you hear me? Father u didn't have to be so bold. Father you could have tried. Father can u see the dream? Father I wish i could have known. There's no one there to hear me cry. There is no one there to see me fly. There is no one there to sing the lullaby. There is no one there. Goodbye. by: s.e. star Copyright S.E. Star Used with Permission |
Lonely Rain CloudI always notice it. Some people don�t. But I do. A dense whisk of cotton, the colour of smoke. Blurry around the edges. Shimmering, too. Changing shape as it changes it�s position in the cold, white sky. A lonely rain cloud. Blown away from everything else. All alone with a heavy, dark pain bottled up inside it. It�s only company. It looks peaceful. Not following the crowd. You�d think it�d want to stand out. Not have to carry anyone else�s load. No. No rain cloud likes to be alone. Do you? It�s a lone rain loud. Lonely. Cut off. Broken up with just a part of it left. Dark and cold. Drowning in itself. You might think it easier to hold everything in, being on it�s own. An empty assumption. Clouds need to cry. Especially the lonely rain clouds. They�re the ones that cry the most. And for a lonely, small rain cloud, it�s the hardest. Because when they need to cry� There�s no one to cry with� By Amy Finch Copyright Amy Finch Used with Permission Is It Right?Paris is a lovely dream, But yet to be seen by a British Poet. A portrait style of a painted Postcard stands in her Mind. Is it right? A watery painting of beauty and City pollution Escaped. Is it right? Mimes on the famous terraces and Violins playing, but oh so silent In their watery Brush strokes. Is it right? Rain glazed cobbles, slippery to Look at in their curves, Impossible to run on, Yet so many silhouettes dancing In front of fairy lights, All of which shimmer And swing on none existent Wires. Is it right? A painted postcard Decorated with quaky and Lumpy acrylic smears. Is it right? A postcard A reflection of the real thing Multiplied a thousand times And laminated In a factory, Where British poets who Have yet to see Paris Can pretend to appreciate Fine art. Is it right? By Amy Finch Copyright Amy Finch Used with Permission |
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