Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mia Mehnaz Mar 11
Time had evaporated into the dingy air of the hospital
Day merged to night, night to day.
Sleep turned to endless bouts of prayer and whispering into your ear. Whispering that it wasn't your time yet,
That everyone was waiting for you to come back.
All that came back to my ears
were the incessant beep of machinery
Machinery that was your lifeline,
that kept your beautiful heart beating.
Coiled and crimped tubes running in and out of your body
And you looked frighteningly ethereal;
A ghostly angel in the place of my sister.
A tangle of exterior veins; pumping foreign liquids into you
And though I loathed the thought of those cold substances
Stealing away the warmth from your blood, they kept you safe.
They ushered you away
From that distant white shore,
We have come to call death.
Until one day they simply could not save you any longer.
But there was a lingering flame
Amongst the grief that was waiting to pounce
Because? You were fighting.
Like a soldier you were fighting,
With your bare hands struggling against the predator called death.
You fought with every last ounce of will in your body,
Until God called your name,
And you grew your wings, and you left.
Visitors come and go
An endless flurry of desperate hugs
Fairy-like kisses upon my cheek; soaked, saturated in tears.
Because that was the first time,
I had ever felt absolutely, completely, powerless.
I was shrinking back into a shell of myself,
Speak when spoken to I reminded myself.
And through the night I would choke back my fear,
And I sang to you. Childhood melodies.
And they seemed so far away; out of my grasp.
I clutched a strangers hand
Your hand, was delicate and soft
This hand was swollen; foreign.


But I didn’t let go. Not yet.
I ran my hand through your hair,
And I didn’t get the scent, of lavender and soap.
I retched. Inhaling something harsh.
Because as I put one finger to your head,
It came away with blood.
Still.
You layed so, so, still.
Your chest rising and falling; with breaths that weren’t yours.
And I still,
Still, read you stories and talked to you-
In that scarce hope that you would wake up,
And I could hug you for real.
Not having to heave myself over you;
Being delicate, in fear of choking you.
But I still hoped.
God, I hoped with everything in me that you would make it.
I prayed on my knees,
Screaming in a silent room that,
I would abandon my faith- if God stole you from me.
And yet, stolen from me you were.
The doctors were hopeless,
Reminding us- the damage is irreversible.
If not today, you would die tomorrow.
But I would not desert you.
I still hoped.
I hoped.
I kept hoping.
And the next day came.


The day before you died.
The white sun broke through the window,
Embraced the room and clarified.
The shadows that the limbs,
Of the simple oak tree make on the hospital wall;
Stark and bellowing.
The leaves are all gone.
The leaves and the colour are gone.
The tree is devoid of youth and joy;
And in the tree- I see you.
It hurts.
You are the mannequin of a sleeping girl.
But the heaviness of you,
As though your insides have turned to lead.
I believe it is lucid now,
A dying girl.
Trapped in a coma.
Tomorrow, you’ll be gone.

My sister’s eyes are closed.
I pull her closer,
Inhale what remnants of her pure scent is left.
I want to hold her, In this world.
Keep her close,
Let her never to leave- not yet.
Her hair brushes my cheek.
She is still sleeping-
Why is she still sleeping?
And then,
I begin to cry
I do not stop,
And I lay my sister down.

On the white sheet.
My sister,
Her eyes flutter open.
And sees shadows,
Sparrows on the wall.
Flocking to the naked limbs of the simple oak tree.
She smiles,
A small, beautiful smile.
And she points to the shadows on the wall and says


“It’s okay now, look, the leaves are returning to the tree.”
This is probably the most personal thing I have ever written. The most raw, the most real account of my sisters death. This poem doesn't speak of my grief, as my others do. But rather takes on the perspective of the girl I was when my sister was dying, A small thank you for reading, God bless you all <3
ollie Jul 2018
I am left to admit that I am not the best sibling to those I am left with
Though I am trying
It is the little things
And a little girl named after her grandmother
Who died two months before she was born
As long as I live nothing will be made to happen to her that is not of the utmost benefit
oatt and aist
abby Jul 2018


the skylark summons the dead to rise as you watch with cloudy, wishful eyes

our sisterhood survives throughout the dark
they will never silence our voices
when we call to the tune, the world rejoices

wild child, living in a fantasy
wild child, the myth lives on within you
wild child, you create your own dreams
wild child, enchant them
do what you do

the white cat knocks over the lamp with a smile
a sea of tears flows from your eyes as deep as the Nile
a mirage is in sight, a vision it seems
the fabric of your sadness is ripped at the seams
we weave a spell together, fashioned stitch by stitch
you look to me and laugh, mischievous like a witch

our sisterhood still lives on through the dark as we wait for the time to leave our mark
they will never silence our voice
when the world calls our tune we will rejoice

fuera puera, vivens in autem fantasia
fuera puera, quod fabula vitae on intra vos
furea puera, vos creo tuus agnosco somniums
fuera puera
lamia
facio qualis vos facio
I tried with the Latin, please message me telling me how to fix it if a false translation bothers you! thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy. blessed be
Kimi Sanchez Jun 2018
there is power in being a girl
but there's also sadness
                            struggle
                    ­        anger
                            uncertainty
and most of the time it's hard to find strength in being a girl
except in knowing that the sisterhood is rising,
we're coming,
a force to be reckoned with
and nothing to stop us

there is power in being a girl
and there is also inevitability
Broadsky Feb 2018
I remember nights when I was so petrified, you'd sit outside the bathroom door for me as I'd shower. I remember nights you'd climb in my bed to soothe my sobs and stop my tears from wetting my pillow. I remember when you'd hold my hand and teach me to be confident with my shoulders back. I remember the nights of endless secret telling and shushes to keep quiet. I remember it all. Yet those sweet pea memories are slowly drifting away back to sea with the memory of who you used to be. I can't seem to get you to look me in the eyes anymore, I can't get you to hold me when I have an episode. I can't get you to spend time with me, your baby sister, and maybe its a big sister thing; growing tired of being your litter sister's keeper. I dont know. But I know there are no more nights of secret telling, there are no more nights of being held while I cry. There are no more nights of you sitting outside the bathroom door for me. There are none.
When do you know to let go?
Tori Sep 2017
I long to fly

Into the sky

But broken wings

Disable me.



I long to play

But here I stay

Wheelchair bound

Still on the ground.



Look in my eyes,

These grey blue skies,

You’re soon to see

Past broken wings.



My body’s bound

But my soul roams round

The sky of my mind

Where you will find



Imagination abounds

My soul roams round

No chains for me

For here I’m free.



So, though I’m o'erlooked

And my wings are all crook’d,

There’s more to me,

I’ve  a soul with wings
This is dedicated to my little sister who has cerebral palsy.
Next page