Visiting your grave is unbelievably hard,
the smell I imagine coming out
from your decomposed little body
the image of blood all over you,
that came from me, my battered body.
I always remember holding you,
your limp, lukewarm body
in my cold, cold arms
and him, laughing like an hyena
because I was as lifeless as you then.
He thought he could hurt me more,
with his fists
but nothing hurt more than
knowing I was to blame for losing you....
I should have saved myself so then
you'd have been safe too.
Now, here I am in this graveyard,
still, hoping and praying
that you'd wake up
all I have to remember you by
is this little gravestone and
each time I come here I cry fresh tears;
like a dam busting it's seams.
I weep for you, the little boy you should be
and weep for not protecting you.
A silent scream always escapes my lips
as I read your name from the tiny rock above you
'Thomas Smith a beautiful boy, gone too soon'
If only they knew the truth!!
If this is how I remember you,
then I wish I could forget!!
Em, This hurts to read, I hurt for you knowing your loss isn't just written words. Your loss is real, your pain to me so mind numbing Em, I'm so sorry-I can't pretend to know the depth of your pain, all I can do is send my prayers and hugs and strength to get through another day. Take care-Brenda