Imagine you're on a swing.
You're five years old again,
with multicolored ribbons in your hair,
and tiny teeth.
Now I want you to kick your feet,
propel yourself into the air.
Let yourself laugh,
dark eyes twinkling with excitement.
You're going higher and higher...
you know there's something else
you should be doing.
You want to fly but you can't.
Something's holding you back.
You're fingers fasten tightly to them.
You know that you should let go.
But you're scared that you'll fall back down.
That you won't float.
I'm telling you,
I know that I'm the reins.
And I want you to listen
to my voice.
I love you.
Just a short poem. This is about a dying girl's boyfriend telling her to let go, that it's okay to die, to move on. He's speaking to her as she's dying, but she doesn't want to go.
I had an idea for a short story in my head but I made it into a poem instead. Henche the collection of words above.
Beg your computer to die.
But, no matter which of these you choose,
Remember to REVIEW!