This poem is the immediate reactions I had the night my mother was murdered. From the thought of my stepdad dying to the shocking revelation that my mother was the one who had passed.
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As Langston said
“My soul has grown deep like the rivers”
Her head touches the rail of the bed
The wood being the instrument the Lord uses as he delivers
Flashing lights, shrieking sirens
Silence
Chaotic commotions, sillouhette shaped stretchers
Anxiously awaiting as an air of awareness awakens me
The lords angels flew
To 142 somers ave
The early evening sky
Turned grey as jski died
Then it became a lie
Twas not his day to die
Terrible tasting salt then touched my tongue
The body knew when the angels had sung
Bernadette was the Lords preference
She had outgrown this worlds residence
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