Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2013
I can't help but wonder
How he used to cry.
Did he wail at the top of his lungs?
Or did he silently weep?

I can't help but think
About what he called his parents.
Mother? Father? Jane and John?
Or some sickly sweet pet name?

These thoughts fill my mind
Along with his contagious laugh.
His smile, his eyes,
His dying breath, soft, broken.

I plead for them to leave
Go, get out while they still can.
Before I explode, as he did,
Into undefined pieces of flesh.

I never knew him,
The man he wouldn't grow up to be.
So why is it that he had to leave
And leave his image with me?

Be at peace,
That is all I want,
Just do it without my help.
Without the added pain.
Keeping all those in Boston close to my heart, stay strong <3 . Also for the eight year old who was killed.
FrannyFoo
Written by
FrannyFoo  Richmond
(Richmond)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems