Death
Death is the buried face
Death is the inability to sleep
Endless casseroles
Death is the cleaning out
Crying when you fold his shirts
They still smell like him
Death is the rose bush in the churchyard
and the lime tree
Death is recovering
Slowly but surely, helped by your friends
Death is comforting
By friends, family, relatives you didn't know you had
Death is love
Of the lost one
Of your family
Death is forever
This was written about my grandpa. I was in seventh grade when I wrote it, so no haters, please.
JE LEEST
A Collection of Poems and Dreams
PoëzieWhat is a myth? Where do dreams go when we wake up? My random phases of deciding to try poetry and/or prose, gathered together in this book. Amazing cover art credit to my friend @graceful1299 who is amazing.
