of pain and a child poet

i found this poem from the internet during avail time (meaning idle time, or there are no calls) in the office... i don't know how you would see this poem.. *smiles*

Ruhe

Pain isn’t meant to be held in your arms;
Not meant to turn your palms red with cuts;
Not meant to puncture your heart.
And yet you let pain live within you. . .

I cannot forever be your medicine -I am the morphine.
Not the cure.

Let your wounds heal. Let the hurt escape.

You must rest.

Bearing your life in a plastic bag that has a tear -
It could leak any second.
And yet, we can find no thread to mend it.
I will not let you spill onto the pavement.
But sometimes I feel my fingers slipping.
And wonder if I’ve grown too tired to care.

Replace your broken boards. Let the hurt escape.

You must rest.

Every ticking second is precious;
Every moment and memory is alive.
Your life, the one I know you cannot love or hate, is fading
And brightening, surging and flickering.
But what will I do when the blackout comes?

Recharge yourself. Let the hurt escape.

You must rest.


By Alexander, 10th grade
submitted to the Edgar Allan Poe exercise at Totally Optional Prompts