Andrew

Andrew

He was always so happy to come out and play
He didn’t seem thirty, to us he wasn’t a day
Over ten when he chased us around,
And laughed as we tackled him to the ground.

Full of optimism, a picture of immortality,
Nothing could harm him, he was safe, in totality.
But when he came and called on us that late night,
No smile touched his lips, he was the image of fright.

His wife by his side, her face very pale,
From upstairs I heard the pain in my mother’s exhale.
At first we weren’t told what was going on,
At ten all that I knew was that something was wrong.

“Cancer” they said, and I didn’t comprehend.
He didn’t look any different, doesn’t cancer mean the end?
But then his hair began to fall out, he’s so skinny and frail,
I don’t know this man, his face is so pale!

But every time we’d visit, it’d put a smile on his face.
He said, “You kids make me happy in this horrible place.”

Eleven months later he couldn’t even leave his bed,
Behind the masks I could see the expressions of dread
On the faces around me as he wasted away,
Still trying to smile, not knowing if today was the day

“Kids,” He said, “When I’m gone don’t forget me
Just the guy in the picture, that’s not who I want to be.”

And then one night, late I was awoken
By my parents’ voices, whispered and broken
I crept in the room to ask what was wrong
She turned to me, I think I knew all along.

My voice shook with fear
Her eyes filled with tears
“Erin” she said, her voice one of dread
“Erin, Your uncle, Andrew…He’s dead.”

Your poem was extreemly good and it was moving to the point that it is beyond words. Thank you for sharing that.

thank you

wow, that does something I think poets strive to do, your poem still told the story very clear and in detail, and yet it rhymed as well. Very nice, I'm sorry for your loss.

That made me cry.
No joke.
SO WELL WRITTEN!