Biography of My Grief

Biography of My Grief

To my Sister

When I first met death, I was very young;
A bus hit Laurence at only seven.
I did not know what grief had done;
I lived in hope that he'd find heaven.
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My granny died when I was nine;
I missed the lemon drops she gave.
The big black car a warning sign;
Of the path that grief can pave.
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I lay a boy of twelve years old;
A summer night too hot to sleep.
To my aunt my mother told;
"Five years is the most I'll keep."
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At thirteen years I held her hand;
And heard her, as she spoke her last.
Grief, my only place to stand;
Yet still I did not know its blast.
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By the sea where boats are yare;
Chris talked of girls and happy days.
At eighteen years he locked his car;
I learnt how teenage sorrow slays.
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The next gave me a greater shock;
At half past ten he would go to bed.
I heard no footstep, checked the clock;
In armchair, sitting, he was dead.
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That sorrow broke my very mind;
Yet greater sadness lay ahead.
For grief can tie a tighter bind;
And I had even worse to dread.
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She'd tell me tales
Disturb my rest
My little sister was a pest.
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The coldest day I ever knew;
Was when we laid her down to rest.
From my being, something flew;
For a knife had stabbed her chest.
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For those who kill steal more than life;
In many hearts they plunge their knife.
I did not know what grief could do;
'Till Sis, I said goodbye to you.