The Knife
Cold coffee on the table, the cat still unfed,
Toys, books and trains lying on unmade beds.
Shoes by the door, footprints up the stairs,
If you saw this house, You’d think that no-one cares.
But that’s not the story, it was on the news, everywhere,
To think that that little girl is still somewhere out there.
Does she no her mummy was murdered and her daddy is dead?
I wonder what thoughts are going through her head.
He took her away and took her mummy’s life,
What’s that on the table? A shinning bloodstained knife.
Little Elizabeth May
Silence, I hear nothing, except tears falling and hitting the ground,
And the echoing last words of lifeless bodies never to be found,
Lying beneath damp mud, sleeping with skulls and bones,
Now I hear sobbing, crying and quiet moans.
As I watch over my family, as i watch them weep,
They’re standing over the grave in which my body is buried, deep.
Little do they no that I watch them every day,
As they celebrate my birthday, the 21st of May.
Oh how I wish I could wipe away the tears that my mother cries,
Oh how i wish i could comfort her and wipe her beautiful eyes.
Silence, I hear nothing, except tears falling and hitting the ground,
I’m little Elizabeth May, The girl who fell and drowned.
Both written by me. I've been told that I'm good for my age, 14, but my poems are worryingly dark or sumthin :L X
Cold coffee on the table, the cat still unfed,
Toys, books and trains lying on unmade beds.
Shoes by the door, footprints up the stairs,
If you saw this house, You’d think that no-one cares.
But that’s not the story, it was on the news, everywhere,
To think that that little girl is still somewhere out there.
Does she no her mummy was murdered and her daddy is dead?
I wonder what thoughts are going through her head.
He took her away and took her mummy’s life,
What’s that on the table? A shinning bloodstained knife.
Little Elizabeth May
Silence, I hear nothing, except tears falling and hitting the ground,
And the echoing last words of lifeless bodies never to be found,
Lying beneath damp mud, sleeping with skulls and bones,
Now I hear sobbing, crying and quiet moans.
As I watch over my family, as i watch them weep,
They’re standing over the grave in which my body is buried, deep.
Little do they no that I watch them every day,
As they celebrate my birthday, the 21st of May.
Oh how I wish I could wipe away the tears that my mother cries,
Oh how i wish i could comfort her and wipe her beautiful eyes.
Silence, I hear nothing, except tears falling and hitting the ground,
I’m little Elizabeth May, The girl who fell and drowned.
Both written by me. I've been told that I'm good for my age, 14, but my poems are worryingly dark or sumthin :L X