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by Lois Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #1846480
The comparison of the death of a grand child to the death of moving away from childhood.

Good Bye, When the metal over you falls,
Around your neck, you want to be more than a girl in white satin with a bridal bouquet.
You’ve traded for the hard metal of guns and the offer of fun,
But we know what the outcome to the family it brings.
For those who have helped carry you, today it is the Swans song.


Many years have come and gone now,
From the day we sat side by side,
As the priest in his robes spoke of things he didn’t know.
Making the pew where the people had gathered,
Forced to listen to lies from the father’s lips made as truthful by the wafer’s and wine.
I wanted to shout, if you’d find this man out he’d be more like Heil Hitler!


I swore to God I’d never forget.
At the sound of his name I would spit!
As my darling grand daughter before me, in her casket lay,
Her father took credit for all of her years,
And her mother shed blood drops so deep was her pain.
Our lives had changed, the candle drew back it’s flame, never to touch her again.


I often remember the day of our loss,
When our love was reduced to a vapor unseen.
Nothing to give our little one, to send her on her journey, we were not allowed a thing.
The Lord’s Prayer was shortened by the old priest,
So to heaven my voice I raised,
For Thine is the Kingdom, the Power, and the Glory, Forever! Amen.


None of us know in complete detail,
Is there a heaven, or is there a hell.
But God gave me a gift when I was a child,
He allows me to see with a Spiritual eye.
The souls made to lie down their bodies made out of clay,
Angel’s attend to our visits to say, “They are all okay”.


I’m just one of your devoted van’s God.
I’ve a temper in truth, probably caused by the abuse that came from my own Daddy’s hands.
I can see what hatred does to the children of men unable to love,
Also the mothers torn up by their own demons.
Daddy died tonight Mommy, “What does that mean”?
The drunk driver never came by at all, He didn’t have the guts to say I’m sorry.

Death comes to families in so many ways,
Most of us are the walking wounded.
This time there’s no casket to be hustled away,
But a flesh and blood child of her own sorrows.
She slices and dices with her invisible saber, her tongue.
She has to make the kill before Uncle Sam says “Surrender” to me.
Our heads are bowed, the strike is swift.
Go Soldier! We set you free from your childhood.
I set you free from me.
© Copyright 2012 Lois (loisyoungholtz at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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