The Child

The child waited

As her family wept

The priest prayed by her bed

Her mother held her hand

The candle was still burning on the nightstand

Her father wiped his face with his handkerchief

The room was so bright

She couldn’t understand why

Her parents tried to console her brother

“Her suffering has ended”

“She’s in a better place”

She saw a dark figure approach her

“It’s time to leave, child”

“We must go now”

He was covered in a black robe

And no one seemed to notice him

She took his bony hand

And together they left

“I’m sorry” the figure whispered

As she turned and looked into his eyes

Into the never ending darkness

Of death

________________________________________________________________________________________________

This poem was influenced by Markus Zusak’s The Book Thief in which the story is narrated by death. It is chillingly realistic and brings out the horrors of Nazi Germany. Likewise I wanted this poem to be chillingly truthful because life isn’t always perfect and death is inevitable.

“She was one of the few souls that made me wonder what it was to live”

“It kills me sometimes, how people die”

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