Murder Death and Suicide

Posted by on May 20, 2010 in Yesterday | 17 Comments

Sometimes you forget how odd you really were.

When I went home the other week I liberated a few keepsakes from my mother.  One was a poetry (and I use that term loosely) assignment that I had to do when I was 10.  20 poems.  In each one either someone died mysteriously, was murdered or committed suicide.  If it would have happened in current times I most certainly would have been sent to a psychiatrist.  As it was I got an A- because of all of my spelling mistakes.

I had forgotten what it was like to be me. . . then.  A sample of the dark that was my mind.  (these are the ones on the lighter side – I found most to unsettling to share):

Mystery Life

I died and they do not know how,

I doubt they ever will.

My life, it was a mystery,

My life, a mystery still.

In the Dark

In the dark at the stroke of ten,

You could hear a long loud wind,

The drizzling rain,

The fog was dense,

Standing there, a grey picket fence.


In the dark,

As the clock struck once more,

A scream of the wind,

A slam of the door,

A clop of shoes, An echo calles,

The shadow stretching across the walls.


In the dark, as the clock struck again,

A knife sparkled sharp through the door, and then,

A smile, a laugh,

A scream of fright.

There was a murder committed tonight.


Gee, I wish I were alive agian.

To see, to feel, to cry again.

But I am only a ghost.

Never able to be again.

After I read it I asked mom “Weren’t you alarmed?”

Her answer.  “always.”

Happy to be here in one piece with some peace.

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