The Art of Grief

I don't really know about this poem. It's the first I've written that isn't really about me.

When you were five

You ran around at impossible speeds,

With your toys and other distractions.

As if you didn't have a care in the world.

You didn't even see me standing by your side.


When you were ten

Your shirts were never clean

Because you were a typical young boy.

Your mother would sigh and shake her head,

And you made fun of me, like I didn't matter.


When you were fifteen

You were sweet and kind to me,

But tough and rowdy with your friends.

You were my best friend

And we did everything together,

Side by side.


When you were twenty

You laid your future in front of you like a carpet.

Your life was just beginning.

As you looked ahead with eyes like the heavens above,

You held my hand and kissed me on the nose.

Because I was your whole world, the same way you were mine.


Then when you were so young,

Fate cruelly snatched life from you,

Took it away out of your reach,

So you ceased to exist.


Now I am an old woman

I mourned you,

After your death,

But I didn't shed a tear.


Life moves on, even when it has stopped

And although you were no more,

I lived, flourished, blossomed and grew.


Maybe it was meaningless after all.

The End

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