His Old Clothes
I still hold onto h i s o l d c l o t h e s I made,
stitch by stitch on grandma’s sewing machine-
Yellow lace around the neck with blue suede,
for this tragedy was so unforeseen.
That day my soul s h a t t e r e d-
Only his life mattered.
My heart pitter-pattered
seeing him die.
It was July,
angels did cry.
My fragile essence perished and decayed,
dreadful days are always stuck in between-
I whisper in a hush, “my life scattered…”,
T e a r s n e v e r d r y.
The Puzzle Of My Rhyme - Poetry Contest
Sponsor, Broken Wings
Date, May 24, 2018
Copyright © Lu Loo | Year Posted 2018
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