Poetry Blog by P C Kenet

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Big Sal on Playing the Game called Life (Wed, 2 May 2018 02:56 pm)

My Fault?

The truth about my mum is strange,

I don’t know how I felt,

To only learn the truth long after,

‘Bout how her death was dealt.


The truth was hard once it came out,

I felt helpless and alone

All my hopes and all my fears

Where waiting there at home.


That of course of years ago

But pain still rules my heart

I hurt inside, I wanna cry

Why couldn’t I play my ...

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Dreams don't come true straight away

I met her once

Under a white moon,

On the lake

With a gentle breeze.


I stared at her

Not knowing what she’s thinking.

We reach out for each other

Under the beautiful sky.


We talk, laugh and sing.

I’ve never been so happy.

I look in her eyes,

I see hope,

I see truth,

I see all I’ve ever wanted to see.

That mystical glow,

The moon reflecting off...

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Playing the Game called Life

We live for what we have,

We live with what we’ve got,

We live through all our troubles,

We live no matter what.


Till that day of sorrow,

Till all comes to a pause,

Then all we see is darkness

And wonder what once was.


Then it is too late to care

You’ve died without a clue.

So what you do now that you live,

Well, that is up to you.


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The greatest loss for a kid

My mum,

My mum of eleven years,

Has gone - never to walk the earth again.

The past years - what have I lost?

Not much…only:

A motherly figure to go to when in harm,

Someone to praise me when I’m succeeding,

Someone to hold me tight when I’m in need,

Someone to teach me right from wrong,

Someone to kiss me when I’m sleeping,

Someone to make me laugh,

Someone to tick...

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deathlost parentscared

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