I realize
After spending the better part
Of 24 hours on this,
There’s no way to make
The death of a 13-year-old
At the hands of his father
Poetic.
It seems as if
Poetry is all for the reader,
Never the writer.
It seems as if Matias was never
Going to see the beginning of autumn
No matter how much we wanted him to.
“I can only imagine.”
MercyMe’s words echoed through my
Headphones as Matias
Breathed his final breath.
A morbid concept.
“But why?”
I scream this as the cloudy morning
Bringing tragedy after tragedy.
I thought after
Giving my life to God,
It was supposed to be okay.
I realize
After trying to bargain with God
Over a child I never met,
Blessings take the form of
Raindrops drenching me as
I walk home.
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