My good friend’s grandmother is in her last days, he wrote a poem about it and i thought it was…well it was good, i asked his permission to repost it, heÂ accepted. He lovingly titled it “Death”, but i think it’s a crappy title, but whatever floats his boat, here:
Â I still remember the night my grandmother died. The air was saturated with melancholy as I tried to get her in bed rather than having her sit and stare in thin air.
I have always thought of her as a GRAND-MOTHER, grand she was indeed, a matriarch. A mother, because she always was. Dressing wounds, cuts, scrapes and â€œboo-boos”
Despite the non existence of formal education, she still managed, because she was, strong, strong at heart, mind and body, but slowly her body breaks unrepairable, her heart longs for endurance though breaking is inevitable and her mind becomes property of senescence.
She is indeed dead, dead to the world and all its inhabitance.
Compiled By: Brandon Gordon
Â I hope her suffering ends soon son, best wishes.