Often I Think of Him
Often I think of him
his sweet quick smile
bright blue eyes
smooth clear skin
I dream of him water skiing
playing ball
hockey with friends
so young and strong
sometimes he is reaching for me
for a goodby hug which hurts the most
because he never did say goodby
the night he died
it was so sudden there was no time
to really know what was happening
my last embrace of shock and pain
so sharp it could have been a knife
piercing my very soul
a vicious kick in the stomach
an agony like no other
none even close since
my boy, my child
my heart ripped out ragged and torn
throbbing in wait of relief
from a constant nightmare
Copyright © Betty Bateson | Year Posted 2014
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