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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #1854909
A poem on the experience of witnessing the death of a loved one.
Nails scrape frantically into my skin;

I am but a puppet, a mere mannequin.



Your struggle, not my battle to fight;

Mute spectator to a show of the night.



Death, a fierce warrior, your soul is his chalice;

A duel to the end; without shame, without malice.



Echoes of pain, remnants of tears;

Your haunting eyes, reflect my fears.



Into an abyss without clue, without trace;

Hushed rumors, perhaps, of a better place.



You may be gone, You may be free;

Yet, you'll never die in my memory.



Years are but a number; No matter how I try

I will never forget your final goodbye.
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