I sit on the edge of my seat,
as I hear the soft whispers of lost souls
and the confident moans of relief,
as sturdy men and women pass on their longevity,
blessing their kin to enjoy their final piece of peace.
I **** in the sorrow,
the sadness that pierces the air
like a cold blade into the stomach of summertime,
and my soul weeps almost vocally,
depressed with the weight of ancestral burdens.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 2:59 PM UTC
I sit on the edge of my seat,
as I hear the soft whispers of lost souls
and the confident moans of relief,
as sturdy men and women pass on their longevity,
blessing their kin to enjoy their final piece of peace.
I **** in the sorrow,
the sadness that pierces the air
like a cold blade into the stomach of summertime,
and my soul weeps almost vocally,
depressed with the weight of ancestral burdens.
I can't believe I spelled "bystander" as "bistander". Hahaha.
Request permission to use this poem