Sad Poem...

[~¤~.:. •)_atima• .:. ~¤~]

I didn't write this poem, but it is true...except Sarah (in the story) Didn't write it...if you finish the poem you'll know why...its sad...


My name is Sarah
I am but three,
My eyes are swollen
I cannot see,
I must be stupid I must be bad,
What else could have made my daddy so mad?

I wish I were better
I wish I weren't ugly.
Then maybe my mommy
Would still want to hug me.

I can't speak at all,
I can't do a wrong.
Or else I'm locked up,
All the day long.

When I awake,
I'm all alone.
The house is dark,
My folks aren't home.

When my mommy does come
I'll try and be nice,
So maybe I'll get just
One whipping tonight.

Don't make a sound!
I just heard a car,
My daddy is back
From Charlie's bar.

I hear him curse,
My name he calls.
I press myself,
Against the wall.

I try and hide
From his evil eyes.
I'm so afraid now,
I'm starting to cry.

He finds me weeping
He shouts ugly words,
He says its my fault
That he suffers at work.

He slaps me and hits me
And yells at me more,
I finally get free
And I run for the door.

He's already locked it
And I start to bawl.
He takes me and throws me
Against the hard wall.
I fall to the floor,
With my bones nearly broken.
And my daddy continues,
With more bad words spoken.

"I'm sorry!" I scream
But its now much too late,
His face has been twisted
Into unimaginable hate.
The hurt and the pain,
Again and again.
Oh please God. Have mercy!
Oh please let it end.

And he finally stops
And he heads for the door,
While I lay there motionless
Sprawled on the floor.

My name is Sarah
And I am but three,
Tonight my daddy
Murdered me.

[~Pure Beauty~]

SADDEST THING EVER!!!

[cloud]

In Blackwater Woods
Mary Oliver

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

I had to recite this poem in front of the hole class. It is a really good poem, but it was my grandmother's favourate, and she had died very recently. So, although I love it verymuch, I find it sad.

[.[x].Shadow.[x].]

THey're both good but sad. *begins to sob*

[footballbabe]

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*wipes tears*

[cloud]

Everyone, lets have a moment of thinking for Mist, my horse who recently died. She wasn't even that old.

[.[x].Shadow.[x].]

ohhhh! I'm so sorry!

[~**Black Night**~]

Awwwwwwwwwww, i am sorry!

[cloud]

Thanks. Really down at the moment because of mist. I wish she hadn't died.