Hero

(Author's Note: This is a very personal poem to me, as it is derived from a personal experience, I really don't wish to repeat again. Enjoy, and please, no harsh criticism.)

I’m no saviour, but I tried to save her.

Who’s that stranger I see in the distance?

Tears stain those porcelain cheeks,

As she walks on glass to reach me.

Crunch, crunch— it echoes in my ears, as she bleeds.

Her life is draining away like a wilting flower.

Wilting, wilting, wilting…

Time is wasting her away,

But her words are cold as death,

And whisper excruciating pain.

Secrets spill from her cracked lips,

Ransom notes and newspaper word cut-outs,

And then she slips from my hands like grains of sand (gone).

I tried to save her.

I tried.

I’m no saviour, but I tried to save him.

I stare at a portrait,

The sky painted pink, purple, and orange,

And an ivory stroked boy.

He sits in the sand,

Numbing himself with weed,

To drown his sorrows…

To forget about her.

A ghost hand beckons me over,

And he too, tells me secrets,

Sugar-coated lies, and delivers promises,

Promises that hang on a piece of thread,

And he floats away with the sea,

Never to return again.

I tried to save him.

I tried.

Drop a heart,

Break a name…

Nothing is left.

I’m no saviour, but I tried to save them.

I tried.