POETRY: ‘Your Death, My Life’
Contributed by: Edwin Molina, education major
Where to start and what to say
Is it not the oddest of things,
That we are, what we are, just wasting, Just waiting
Until that unfamiliar day, where all will turn gray
And our spirit on this earth will no longer stay
But let’s delay, above the faith, and what to say,
Cuz these seem like wasted days, above the rays that the sun portrays
What will I say to those that ask, to those that fade,
I am still here, awaiting days, trying to make my stay,
A bit more than day-to-day,
what kind of life do I lead, am I dismayed?
Or am I a product of the environment that leads us stray,
Blocks our thoughts with crappy messages that advertisers pay
Prevents my thinking like two babies laid,
crying for love from a mother that’s too young to grade
the level of maturity within a man before she lay
What am I to say, what am i to say-
Now that you’ve gone, what will we say,
She lived a life to envy, to grade only with the good and forget the stains, the hurt, the work that made it worth the stay,
What should we say, cuz I am so selfish all I think is of that day,
We last spoke across the space, of cyber words that we only type, and are cold like ice, on a winter’s day
What should I say, be real or fake,
Cuz to tell the truth I am only glad I stayed, and I reflect on the days I have left to praise,
And making them worth more than the next, assure myself I won’t leave without making my face,
An eternal grace that my kids will think of more than what I think of those in case,
They have left this place, like you, far too young, too young to lose, any days of praise but hey,
What can I say, I guess that is the way that life is played,
We will all be gone, one distant day,
At least we’ve had a moment to write this phrase,
I love you, I will miss you, now hope and pray,
That the promised is kept for those faithful, and we shall meet again, that one fine day,
But no one has come back to say, so again I ask, what really can I say?
