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Created on: November 14, 2009
He once was a boy.
His raincoat lay upset
on the living room floor-
not a drop, a splatter, of rain
cooled its dry body.
A torn envelope caught itself
within a frozen hand-
the letter lay shivering
open upon a lap.
"We regret to inform you-"
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Poetry: Tragedy
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And kids sent out to play.
Students
Twenty Five of America's best
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by Lori Pollock
My baby is not crying tonight,
Though torn from my hold,
She'll never feel a warm embrace;
She'll never face another soul.
My
Words:
Weapons, sharp, acid-tipped,
Strikin g precisely, penetrating deep
Into an anguished heart already scarred
By many former
The Survivor
Can it be,
That I be destined for this pain;
A never ending tragedy
My life a meere stain...
The darkend days
Of
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