Welcome to Your Poetry Dot Com - Read, Rate, Comment on, or Submit Poetry. Browse Poetry Forums, or just enjoy other parts of our poetic community.
One of the largest databases of poetry on the net, now over 198,500+ poems!
Welcome to Your Poetry Dot Com    Poems On Site: 198,500+   Comments On Poems: 427,000+   Forum Posts: 105,000+
Custom Search
  Welcome ! Home  ·  FAQ  ·  Topics  ·  Web Links  ·  Your Account  ·  Submit Poetry  ·  Top 30  ·  OldSite Link 29-May 15:30:40 AEST  
  Menu
  Home
· Micks Shop
· Our eBay Store· Error Submit
 Poetry
· Submit Poetry
· Least Read Poems
· Topics
· Members Listing
· Old Site Post 2001
· Old Site Pre 2001
· Poetry Archive
· Public Domain Poetry
 Stories
· Stories (NEW ! )
· Submit Story
· Story Topics
· Stories Archive
· Story Search
  Community
· Our Poetry Forums
· Our Arcade
100's of Games !

  Site Help
· FAQ
· Feedback

  Members Areas
· Your Account
· Members Journals
· Premium Sign-Up
  Premium Section
· Special Section
· Premium Poems
· Premium Submit
· Premium Search
· Premium Top
· Premium Archive
· Premium Topics
 Fun & Games

· Jokes
· Bubble Puzzle
· ConnectN
· Cross Word
· Cross Word Easy
· Drag Puzzle
· Word Hunt
 Reference
· Dictionary
· Dictionary (Rhyming)
· Site Updates
· Content
· Special Content
 Search
· Search
· Web Links
· All Links
 Top
· Top 30
  Help This Site
· Donations
 Others
· Recipes
· Moderators
Our Other Sites
· Embroidery Design Store
· Your Jokes
· Special Urls
· JM Embroideries
· Public Domain Poetry and Stories
· Diamond Dotz
· Cooking Info and Recipes
· Quoof - Australian Story

  Social

Array ( [sid] => 137010 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => angel: part 2 [time] => 2007-08-28 13:57:45 [hometext] => mk this is the second part. there are more to come. i have a good ending. if you want more. comment.... [bodytext] => “I have no mother or father to fall back on. No brother or sisters to play with. I have a dying grandma and an old house that has so many leaks that it’s probably flooding. But my life so far has been good. We eat peanut-butter-and-jelly for nearly every meal and have a refrigerator full or milk. Me and Grammy don’t really talk a lot but she’s all I have. I’m grateful for that…” I paused trying to swallow over the lump in my throat.
“How did you get there?” The old man was now looking at me.
My life before Grammy was one that couldn’t be explained in only words. I could never find the right words to tell what I went through. Some bad and some good; some that brought tears and maybe even a few that drew a smile. I didn’t know what I was going to tell him; but it would be the truth. I waited for him to ask again, as I sat quietly drawing my thoughts together.
“What’s your name, honey?”
I looked up, wondering why he chose to ask me this now.
“Remy.” And that time I knew the answer. That was one thing that I knew was right. It was the truth that had always been right there for me; the one that was always cemented into my heart. That was all I had left of what was all gone. I had truths that came and some that went; that was the truth that stayed.
“Miles away from here is a home that I only have faint memories of; a home that I couldn’t even call a home. It was a fairly large house with two stories and stairs that creaked just enough to make you wonder if they did that to warn your parents you were sneaking out. I would always sneak out; sometimes I wouldn’t go anywhere but to my front yard. Sometimes I would sneak out with Jenna…” I paused just enough to make the old man wonder if I had stopped for good.
“Who is Jenna?” He asked, probably to keep me going.
“My sister; well Jenna was my sister.” I stopped, realizing what I was owning up to after so many years. After so long God had chosen now for me to come out of the dark of this old tree and tell this to a complete stranger who had no idea what had happened.
I looked over to see the old man looking at me now. He wasn’t looking at like he was confused, or like he wondered what was going to happen next. He looked at me like he just knew what happened. Like I didn’t have to explain anything to him, he just knew. His expression was understanding and very calming to me. That was all I needed to keep going.
“Dad had always loved me and Jenna more than anything and he would always say so. He had these perfect green eyes that made you think that you were looking straight into his heart; they were happiness. He left on a business trip and right before he left I ran outside to his car crying because I didn’t want him to go. I was merely eight then. Jenna was only four; she had turned four only a week before that day. When I went to the car Dad bent down to get closer to my tear-streaked face. “You be a big girl for Daddy, alright, Remy?” I had nodded to him but didn’t speak. “You take care of Mommy and Jenna until Daddy is back, alright big girl?” I nodded to him again and we hugged and he left. I think that was the last time I saw my Dad that happy.” I stopped telling my story to take in the sadness of what happens next. That was the cute, innocent part of the story. The next part was when I grew up and became wise way beyond my years; I had to fend for myself.
[comments] => 1 [counter] => 177 [topic] => 21 [informant] => thebrokenyouth [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
angel: part 2

Contributed by thebrokenyouth on Tuesday, 28th August 2007 @ 01:57:45 PM in AEST
Topic: Lifepoems



“I have no mother or father to fall back on. No brother or sisters to play with. I have a dying grandma and an old house that has so many leaks that it’s probably flooding. But my life so far has been good. We eat peanut-butter-and-jelly for nearly every meal and have a refrigerator full or milk. Me and Grammy don’t really talk a lot but she’s all I have. I’m grateful for that…” I paused trying to swallow over the lump in my throat.
“How did you get there?” The old man was now looking at me.
My life before Grammy was one that couldn’t be explained in only words. I could never find the right words to tell what I went through. Some bad and some good; some that brought tears and maybe even a few that drew a smile. I didn’t know what I was going to tell him; but it would be the truth. I waited for him to ask again, as I sat quietly drawing my thoughts together.
“What’s your name, honey?”
I looked up, wondering why he chose to ask me this now.
“Remy.” And that time I knew the answer. That was one thing that I knew was right. It was the truth that had always been right there for me; the one that was always cemented into my heart. That was all I had left of what was all gone. I had truths that came and some that went; that was the truth that stayed.
“Miles away from here is a home that I only have faint memories of; a home that I couldn’t even call a home. It was a fairly large house with two stories and stairs that creaked just enough to make you wonder if they did that to warn your parents you were sneaking out. I would always sneak out; sometimes I wouldn’t go anywhere but to my front yard. Sometimes I would sneak out with Jenna…” I paused just enough to make the old man wonder if I had stopped for good.
“Who is Jenna?” He asked, probably to keep me going.
“My sister; well Jenna was my sister.” I stopped, realizing what I was owning up to after so many years. After so long God had chosen now for me to come out of the dark of this old tree and tell this to a complete stranger who had no idea what had happened.
I looked over to see the old man looking at me now. He wasn’t looking at like he was confused, or like he wondered what was going to happen next. He looked at me like he just knew what happened. Like I didn’t have to explain anything to him, he just knew. His expression was understanding and very calming to me. That was all I needed to keep going.
“Dad had always loved me and Jenna more than anything and he would always say so. He had these perfect green eyes that made you think that you were looking straight into his heart; they were happiness. He left on a business trip and right before he left I ran outside to his car crying because I didn’t want him to go. I was merely eight then. Jenna was only four; she had turned four only a week before that day. When I went to the car Dad bent down to get closer to my tear-streaked face. “You be a big girl for Daddy, alright, Remy?” I had nodded to him but didn’t speak. “You take care of Mommy and Jenna until Daddy is back, alright big girl?” I nodded to him again and we hugged and he left. I think that was the last time I saw my Dad that happy.” I stopped telling my story to take in the sadness of what happens next. That was the cute, innocent part of the story. The next part was when I grew up and became wise way beyond my years; I had to fend for myself.




Copyright © thebrokenyouth ... [ 2007-08-28 13:57:45]
(Date/Time posted on site)





Advertisments:






Previous Posted Poem         | |         Next Posted Poem


 
Sorry, comments are no longer allowed for anonymous, please register for a free membership to access this feature and more
All comments are owned by the poster. Your Poetry Dot Com is not responsible for the content of any comment.
That said, if you find an offensive comment, please contact via the FeedBack Form with details, including poem title etc.
Re: angel: part 2 (User Rating: 1 )
by thumper on Tuesday, 28th August 2007 @ 10:56:32 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)
Ok. Go on. I still like this so far. It has my attention. Hope I catch the next installment.
Looking forward to it.
Peace
Thumper :o)




While every care is taken to ensure the general sites content is family safe, our moderators cannot be in all places; all the time. Please report poetry and or comments that are in breach of our site rules HERE (Please include poem title or url). Parents also please ensure that you supervise your children well when they are on the internet; regardless of what a site says about being, or being considered, child-safe.

Poetry is much like a great photo, a single "moment in time" capturing many feelings and emotions. Yet, they are very alive; creating stirrings within the readers who form visual "pictures" of the expressed emotions within the Poem. ©

Opinions expressed in the poetry, comments, forums etc. on this site are not necessarily those of this site, its owners and/or operators; but of the individuals who post items to this site.
Frequently Asked Questions | | | Privacy Policy | | | Contact Webmaster

All submitted items are Copyright © to their submitter. All the rest Copyright © 2002-2050 by Your Poetry Dot Com

All logos and trademarks in this site are property of their respective owners.

Script Generation Time: 0.052 Seconds. - View our Site Map | .© your-poetry.com