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Nelly Osth Poem
My father didn’t cry until my brother did.
It was the final good-bye between three men, who are all told that they are not the type of people to cry because they are not me or her.
Don’t cry they plead to themselves.
Don’t show this emotion.
My little brother was the first to give in to the nature,
The first to show who he truly is,
The first to not only weep as a father left but also start a movement between every man that knows not to cry.
Soon after my father caved.
The tears of a man who hasn’t cried even when he landed upside down on the motorcycle track was sobbing holding his son so hard begging he won’t have to let go.
In his mind he is screaming at himself not to go
To Not leave his boy,
The boy who was brought into this world by him and was now being left behind.
Last to cry was my big brother.
As he went into the embrace, I remember thinking to myself how dead his flower must be as he never waters it.
For after all a flower cannot grow without water
Even if that water is the tears of two breaking brothers and a leaving father.
My father then held us as we all wept,
My brothers and me,
My dad and my mum.
We Wept for the past and the future,
For us and for them
For the flowers that can’t be watered
And for the flowers that are dead.
Copyright © Nelly Osth | Year Posted 2023
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Nelly Osth Poem
Hear them pray for the last time,
their leather boots no protection still.
Listen to the church bell chime.
Hear the men ordering to kill.
Turn off the radio.
Stop the birds sing.
Let her know what she already owe.
Let the soldiers have that final drink.
Tell them that all’s fair in love and war
Tell them the trenches should become their home
The scream of the dying they ignore
As they recite a funeral poem
His mother is crying
And His brother is dying
Now he stands still
As finally he starts flying.
The stars are not wanted anymore;
put out every one.
Lay him down in the cold floor
and lay down all the guns.
Write out the message ‘he is dead’,
and let the sky bleed out that rich red.
Copyright © Nelly Osth | Year Posted 2023
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Nelly Osth Poem
I am overjoyed over our mortality. Because if we were immortal, I wouldn't feel the need to hold your hand. I wouldn't feel the need to love you every day in fear that tomorrow I won't be able to. If we were immortal, I would laugh in deaths' face instead of laughing with the ones in my heart. If I were immortal, I wouldn't know how to love because love would last forever. And therefore, it wouldn't last a day at all.
Copyright © Nelly Osth | Year Posted 2023
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Nelly Osth Poem
I see you in the bus rides to school, when the sun is shining so perfectly over the trees.
I hear you in the music I play when none is listening.
I feel you in the rhythm I dance to when none is watching.
I dream of you during the rainy cold nights.
I see you in my brothers tears.
I feel you in the perfect moments of life, the type you would never want to end.
I smell you in my warm bed sheets in the morning, when I don’t want to get up.
I hear you in the languages I don’t understand.
I feel your soothing reassurance when I wake from nightmares at night.
You may have left me in body, but your spirit stayed.
Because, my love, though I am hurting now it does not compare to the love we shared.
And though you are missing from my side, I know you never wanted to leave.
And in the meadow where I lay, I feel your warm embrace.
Maybe your bones lay rotting in this wicked earth, but your heart is still beating with mine
Copyright © Nelly Osth | Year Posted 2023
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Nelly Osth Poem
My lips have felt so cold, since you left.
My hands seem so heavy, since you left.
My skin feels so dirty, in need of touching by your hands, since you left.
My heart feels so lonely, since you left.
My eyes keep on searching for the reassuring sight of your eyes since you left.
And yet, when you were here, they all screamed for you to leave.
Copyright © Nelly Osth | Year Posted 2023
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