Death Family Journey Life Reminiscence Uncategorized

Sonnet 1015 (sonnet of a wimpy girl)

A tight grip in his ice-cold hands
was a candle-lit scent from above.
I gazed upon his sultry eyes,
it tells me a story never been told —
it was a history never been told.

Oh, dearly, how I miss his nasty laugh
and how crooked it was to hear his cough.
Oh, God! Let me hear him cuss like a thunderbolt.
Let me see him roar like seasalt.

I wish for some borrowed days that would turn back all the fleeting hours.
He had flown higher and reached the heavens sweetly,
while here I am, counting on our haunted memories so dearly.
I know that we’ll see each other again through eternity,
and for that, I won’t lose myself over sanity.

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