My Son
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Poetry
One cold and windy night, I laid upon my gaol bed, and as I closed my eyes, I heard a voice that said: “Please don’t be afraid, I wish to speak with you, maybe you will listen, to my words that are true.”
“Yes, I am a spirit, but do not be alarmed – I come in peace, and I mean you no harm. I know just how you feel and, you’re going through hell, and I guess I should know, I died in this cell.”
“It was so long ago, when I was not so young, leading a life of crime, not caring what I’ve done. My freedom I did lose and my son I never saw, he grew up without me, from the time he was small.”
“But throughout all those years, I hoped he would be free, never would he see gaol, and follow on behind. So many years flew by, I grew older each day, time was drawing near, and death would not delay.”
“Now I look down upon you, I remember when I was young, and my eyes – they fill with tears, because you are my son.”
One cold and windy night, I laid upon my gaol bed, and as I closed my eyes, I heard a voice that said: “Please don’t be afraid, I wish to speak with you, maybe you will listen, to my words that are true.”
“Yes, I am a spirit, but do not be alarmed – I come in peace, and I mean you no harm. I know just how you feel and, you’re going through hell, and I guess I should know, I died in this cell.”
“It was so long ago, when I was not so young, leading a life of crime, not caring what I’ve done. My freedom I did lose and my son I never saw, he grew up without me, from the time he was small.”
“But throughout all those years, I hoped he would be free, never would he see gaol, and follow on behind. So many years flew by, I grew older each day, time was drawing near, and death would not delay.”
“Now I look down upon you, I remember when I was young, and my eyes – they fill with tears, because you are my son.”
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ISSUE NO. 23
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2 MIN READ
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2 MIN READ
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ISSUE NO. 23
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1 MIN READ
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