Wrote this when I was 11... I've changed it a fair bit since, but it's basicly the same. Handed it in as a English project (Poetry) in Year. 7 and the comment said "Naomi is a nice girl, but this poem is distirbing, especialy for her age (at that time 12)." Then he tried to arranged a meeting with my parents... IDIOT!!!
My Quiet Silence
When I’m at home I have my own quiet silence.
It breaks ordinary time of day.
It’s settling, but dead.
The sky is a blanket of life; white and blue.
The only place where I am not.
The air is thick and heavy, each gasp darkening your inside.
The breath of rest, long sleep, forever darkness;
What you call death.
Every sundown hoping he will come for you,
When finally he’s waiting.
Without hesitation, we follow the night as the darkness falls,
Noticing all my pain is left behind.
He whispers softly;
“Here your pillow will always be warm”.
I wrote it just after my Gran-nan died, she was 92 and I guess this is what I thought it could have been like? Every Christmas she would say to us (My sister 8, Me 10) "For Christmas I just want to die!" THE GOOD OLD DAYS, lol...