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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1994330
Rated: E · Poetry · Drama · #1994330
I'm 15, and have never wrote before. My English teacher said it was pretty good.
I walked down the aisle,
with lines of pews on my side.
I felt like Moses, splitting the sea
of benches; cutting through the silence.
Approaching the dark wooden casket,  wearing my Sunday best.
But this day had a different feeling;
no happy faces, no smiling kids running around.
A memory hit me like an arrow from a god.
Piercing my very being; interrupting my thoughts.
I remembered the time I spent by her bed,
wondering my mom dragged me here.
"Why do I have to be here? She can't even walk around!"
I thought to myself on the way to her.
But when we came to her bed, we always smiled
and laughed, even though she may not have remembered us.
So when I approached the dark wooden casket,
I didn't cry, or sob, or wail because she was gone.
Instead, a smile crept upon my face, like how fall
creeps up upon the leaves of the trees, so slowly
changing that it takes long to notice.
© Copyright 2014 Chad Erikson (gangstabunniez at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1994330