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Evie Smith Poem
Oh my love, she was perfect.
Curly red hair that shone like flame.
Green eyes that looked quite glassy
the last time she called my name.
Death chooses no favorites.
Death chooses no friends.
Death only picks who's existence to end.
My love, dear lord, she was just 17.
I'll never forget those bright eyes
My favorite green.
A green that was clouded
when she swung from that tree.
A sight beheld by none other than me.
It hurts to remember,
to remember my love
she was so troubled inside
my mourning dove.
Why didn't you tell me your father was livid?
I know I'm no prince, I have but a penny,
But I loved you oh so deeply, my annie.
This was the wrong way.
You should've told me.
I'm good at persuasion.
I'm a salesman, you see.
Every night I'm alone- I miss your bright hair
I think of what happened- I should've been there.
God above, where was I
When you tied that cursed rope-
I could've saved you.
Revived your hope.
But you jumped oh so certain, my soon-to-be bride,
All I could do when I found you was cry.
I screamed at the sky-
"Why her? Why my girl?"
"Why did she do this? Did I do something wrong?"
You should've heard me, Annie, it was quite a whirl.
I'm surprised no one here has deemed me insane,
Let alone pare me up with some other dame.
I'll never forget how you looked, my angel.
Neck broken, hair dangling, not you.
I wish I could forget that picture, my love.
It comes to my mind every fifteenth of June.
I miss you, my love. I miss you, my lady.
I still have the list of the names for our baby.
Copyright © Evie smith | Year Posted 2026
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Evie Smith Poem
Colors around me-
Twisting in the sunlight-
They mesmerize me often-
When I look inside it-
I forget my horrible life.
Copyright © Evie smith | Year Posted 2026
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Evie Smith Poem
I crave no longer lonesomeness,
I no longer wish for quiet,
for in the darkest pits of night
I yearn for love requited.
The angels weep,
I try to sleep,
but I'm only met with silence.
My pain is echoed back to me
so loudly in this quiet.
My heart, it aches.
My shoulders shake.
I crave to hear your voice-
Any noise, just anything-
Anything but quiet.
The solemnity of silence.
The pestering of nothing.
The aching, grating pain you feel
from the lack of loving.
Copyright © Evie smith | Year Posted 2026
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Evie Smith Poem
Every day I miss your pawprints.
The muddy tracks I once rushed to erase.
“What a disaster,” I’d mutter, scrubbing at the kitchen tile until it shone,
Never realizing that the mess was a map of your joy,
That you were just leaving a trail through my kitchen so I could always find where you’d been
Now I search the corners of the baseboard for a smudge of you, a ghost of a paw pad,
Anything to prove that the rhythm of your coming and going wasn’t just a dream.
The hallway feels twice as long without the click-clack of your nails,
The frantic, joyful percussion that announced you before you ever appeared.
I catch myself avoiding the spot in the sunshine where you’d stretch,
Unfurling like a ribbon in the sun, claiming the heat as your own.
Every day I miss your fur.
I miss finding those stray silver strands clinging to every single sweater I owned.
I used to spend so much time lint-rolling the evidence of you from my life.
Hating that the blankets looked like they’d grown a coat of their own.
I cling to the fibers that remain, weaving them into the fabric of my soul.
I still reach for the bag of kibble, the crinkle of the plastic a phantom,
Waiting for you to press against my shins, demanding your due.
I’d give anything to hear those relentless meows again,
The soft pleas for breakfast and the desperate cries for just a moment of attention.
I used to shush you, asking for just one quiet cup of coffee.
What a fool I was to think that peace was something found in the absence of your voice.
This house used to be so loud with the pulse of your life-
Now this silence is a heavy weight I’m not strong enough to lift.
The silence has a texture now, thick and suffocating like an old wool blanket.
I look at your collar, the leather worn soft by the curve of your neck,
And I wonder how something so little could leave a hole so vast it swallows the light.
People ask why I'm so withdrawn.
I have to tell them you're gone, and the word “gone” feels like a lie, a betrayal.
Because I still see you in the peripheral of my vision, a flash of a tail around the door.
I would trade every clean floor, every un-snagged sweater, every silent night in the world
For just one more muddy step, one more ruined rug, one more hour of your company.
I'm still waiting to see those messy pawprints on the tile when the rain starts to fall,
But all you really left behind were the deep, unerasable pawprints on my soul.
Copyright © Evie smith | Year Posted 2026
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Evie Smith Poem
annoyingly cute
he mews with a burning want
he wants more cat food.
Copyright © Evie smith | Year Posted 2026
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Evie Smith Poem
On the bus
Loud, chaotic, busy
I sit and cling to the germ-ridden handle.
What are they thinking?
The people bustling by
A woman with her child
A street performer singing for change
A war vet riding to rehab.
This is what we see at a glance.
This is what we judge on.
That woman has just adopted that child. She's ecstatic and exhausted. Give her the seat.
That performer is scraping by for money. He's trying to buy an engagement ring for his girl.
That war vet is heading to rehab for the first time without his comrade.
We never truly know what's behind the stereotype.
Copyright © Evie smith | Year Posted 2026
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Evie Smith Poem
Mother Earth breathes life into us
She is the mother of all mothers
She is the almighty
Copyright © Evie smith | Year Posted 2026
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