I was five years old
an innocent, harmless child,
not a care in my world,
my universe.

My grandmothers were rocks,
one great, one mother.
They gave me the confidence to
not feel like an alien
(not of this world).

The one great?
She’s gone…
Gone like a toy you’ll never find,
a puzzle piece dumped in the garbage.

The worst part?
I remember the morning.
Because I was right next to her,
blissfully sleeping and oblivious.

That night…
That night…
I saw the face of death.
And he’s…he’s not a skeleton.

He’s not even a he.

Wings so white, they shine like the heavens,
a cloak of white, gliding beneath its feet.
But its face…
Too cruelly beautiful to describe,
too absently horrid to remember.

I have seen the face of God,
not man,
not woman,
but all perfection and glory (intimidating).

I have seen war.
I’m sure it was a dream, but
it seemed too real…

angels fighting for her soul,
demons dragging her down,
the devil’s arms around me, telling me,
“So, so pure. I’ll take you with glory.”

And then…
And then…
And then…
I woke up.

And the great one was dead
right next to me…
Sure didn’t go peacefully, but
for then, I was almost complete,
but then, a year later my grandmother died…

Another story, but
she went the same,
stolen by death, taken in her sleep.
My grandmothers’ last words?
“Live…for me.”

Tagged with:

Comments are closed.

Looking for something?

Use the form below to search the site:

Still not finding what you're looking for? Drop a comment on a post or contact us so we can take care of it!

Visit our friends!

A few highly recommended friends...

    Set your Twitter account name in your settings to use the TwitterBar Section.