 |
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 16:07:31 AEST | ||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
|
||||
|
Array
(
[sid] => 82747
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => ''death revisited''
[time] => 2005-02-02 23:28:13
[hometext] => this is not really a poem. more of a story, but more people will read it here. comments appreciated.
[bodytext] => I enter a reoccurring dream. I see the scene. I walk to a towering barn. Its swinging doors hover above me. I throw them open, the night air is stale as it transfers somewhat oxygen through my system. The moon is concealing itself behind the thick clouds above. Something stirs above me in the lofts. I look up and see nothing. I do see a large ladder leading up to these mysterious lofts. I climb up it slowly, fear growing inside me, as I am afraid of what may lie at the top; quenching my curiosity. I take slow steps as I steady myself and step off of the ladder. Regaining my confidence, I see something on the ground. A lifeless shape, and I hover above it to discover the identity of this body to be my brother, Rupert. A slit from underneath his chin that stretched all the way from under his left ear, to the right one. A knife lay in his hand, covered in his own blood. His empty green eyes were blank, and stared back into my dark blue ones that were now filled with tears. I ran about three feet away, and heard retching that echoed through the whole place, and a second later I found to be my own vomit that now covered my shoes. I recovered, and ran to a corner that hid a built in ladder that stretched to a trap door on the roof. I pushed through and stepped into the bitter, stale, cold night air that filled my lungs. I wiped my mouth on my sleeve, taking off the vomit left on my mouth from before. I walked to the edge of the barn roof, tempted to jump. But I did not jump. Instead I broke into loud sobs, fell to my knees and put my face in my hands. I screamed at the heavens to give my brother back, but they did not awnser. They just echoed my empty words right back to me. I slammed open the trap door, descended the two ladders, did not look at my brother, (my vomit now on the underside of my shoes as well) and I threw back the barn doors. I fell onto a bale of hay under a mistletoe tree, and found a note. It was from my brother. I ran for it, and only saw my brother again in my memories and this reoccurring dream. -In Memory of Rupert Grint- [comments] => 1 [counter] => 185 [topic] => 39 [informant] => english-pea-pelter [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 4 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Grief )
|
Menu
· 
Poetry
Community
Members
Areas
Reference
Search
Top
Others
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