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Heather
by Timothy SomersDeath touched me tonight,
and oh yes, I am a bastard,
all I can do is write.
How anger at the very real
and touch of things that dont conceal
reality from me, tonight.
How sad, anothers sad
and stolen life can be,
her child, a person gone,
a child no more, no more to see
as younger
than she really was.
How glad, with sick relief
that death did not reach to
steal from me, congeal such
deeper grief, as I might feel.
Death touched me, and,
Oh yes, I am a bastard.
She was not mine. 04/02/1997 Posted on 06/24/2007
Copyright © 2025 Timothy Somers
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Jeffrey Parren on 06/24/07 at 06:55 PM I like the idea and the flow for the most part but I find myself searching for more of a story or maybe concretes. Also, S2 is a bit rough from the transition from L1 to L2. ~JPP |
| Posted by Jo Halliday on 05/17/09 at 05:04 PM I agree with Lauren. It hides more than one bears. I like it. |
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