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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Emotional · #2131426
A poem about wishing that my unborn siblings had survived.
Together at last.
How much time has truly passed?
Sixteen years cannot ever describe it.
When there is a God, I live only to find you.
While you were looking down below, death and his shadow crept up behind you.
I pray there is a heaven, but my hands lay broken beside me.
A husk of my once great self lays down to hide you.
In a cradle of dirt, trees grow to spite you.
I am the hand that rocks the grave, and the deterrent of rot.
At least that is what I hope.
All I can hope to do now is cope.

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