Loss
His eyes are made of oceans,
they're deep, so deep i could drown.
his smile, so sweet and sincere,
always there, never seems down.
His spirit, bright as a candle,
is always so full of life.
His sorrow, little as always,
Sometimes stung like a knife.
I wake up and come to my scences,
for i do not know where i am.
Cause why do i sit on a woodbench?
why does my head feel so clam?
the answer hits me like thunder,
As i force a docter to come.
He sits with me and slowly tells me:
I'm sorry, but Ethan, he's gone.
they're deep, so deep i could drown.
his smile, so sweet and sincere,
always there, never seems down.
His spirit, bright as a candle,
is always so full of life.
His sorrow, little as always,
Sometimes stung like a knife.
I wake up and come to my scences,
for i do not know where i am.
Cause why do i sit on a woodbench?
why does my head feel so clam?
the answer hits me like thunder,
As i force a docter to come.
He sits with me and slowly tells me:
I'm sorry, but Ethan, he's gone.
Reacties op dit gedicht
| Sylletjuh: | Maandag, augustus 23, 2004 20:16 |
| Mooi maar begrijp niet alles :) | |
| Henk Knibbeler: | Vrijdag, augustus 20, 2004 11:15 |
| This is daylight with a spiral from sadness, but hope! Be strong and satisfied with these words, love it! love, Henk. |
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Over dit gedicht
| Auteur: Wendy J |  
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| Gecontroleerd door: Pieps | ||
| Gepubliceerd op: 20 augustus 2004 | ||
| Thema's: | ||