It was a prompt in freshmen year English class
It's a little hard to understand, but I don't want to alter it from how I wrote it originally.
But that doesn't change anything
The salty tear drop glides down a rosy cheek
Attempts at its own miniature suicide
As it flies down from the tip of her chin
Sores through the air
Which sits silent except for the girl's breathless gasps for air
Between hard inhales and sloppy exhales
A hiccup escapes as the tear hits the ground
Completing its personified suicide
And ending its hypothetical life
The drop's body seeps into the newly turned earth below
Where six feet under lays a sixty inch corpse
The first corpse in weeks to be buried in this specific cemetery
She sits in her wooden box
Made to be visually appealing
But no one ever though ti make it comfortable for the person within
"She'll be dead," someone probably said
"Who cares how comfortable she is?"
On the way to a better place
She is sitting in a pinching seat
Made of strict wood that allows zero movement
Like a coach seat on a crowded plane
She's on her way to paradise
Leaving all her friends and family to suffer through the rains
She is no longer conscious
Unable to communicate with the girl standing above her
Gasping for air.
Poetry by kaytee
Read 651 times
Written on 2008-12-19 at 23:14
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
It's a little hard to understand, but I don't want to alter it from how I wrote it originally.
Write about death
She criesBut that doesn't change anything
The salty tear drop glides down a rosy cheek
Attempts at its own miniature suicide
As it flies down from the tip of her chin
Sores through the air
Which sits silent except for the girl's breathless gasps for air
Between hard inhales and sloppy exhales
A hiccup escapes as the tear hits the ground
Completing its personified suicide
And ending its hypothetical life
The drop's body seeps into the newly turned earth below
Where six feet under lays a sixty inch corpse
The first corpse in weeks to be buried in this specific cemetery
She sits in her wooden box
Made to be visually appealing
But no one ever though ti make it comfortable for the person within
"She'll be dead," someone probably said
"Who cares how comfortable she is?"
On the way to a better place
She is sitting in a pinching seat
Made of strict wood that allows zero movement
Like a coach seat on a crowded plane
She's on her way to paradise
Leaving all her friends and family to suffer through the rains
She is no longer conscious
Unable to communicate with the girl standing above her
Gasping for air.
Poetry by kaytee
Read 651 times
Written on 2008-12-19 at 23:14
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
