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Underneath the Willow Tree
Staring into the void of secrets
A threshold that only the dead may cross
Flashing silver in my hand
Remembering…
Seven years before:
Younger than the dawn,
I remember the day I learned of dark clouds
Dressed in white, an unrecognizable face
I’ll think of you under the willow tree
January:
Traveled painless
Is what they say
I’ll miss you, companion
I’ll think of you under the willow tree
May:
Orange flowers wilt
And your hand grows cold
I can’t help but stare at the empty hospital bed
I’ll think of you under the willow tree
July:
I hated to watch you suffer
That terrible pain
You’ll always be in the stars
I’ll think of you under the willow tree
November:
I spoke to you the day before
Your smile is burned in me
I couldn’t stop the tears
From running rivers down my cheeks
I’ll think of you under the willow tree
I never knew you
Never saw you
Yet still I cry for you
I wonder what your life was like
I’ll think of you under the willow tree
I see your face in the mirror
I can’t remember the last time I smiled at you
Something so shattered
I’ll bury your broken pieces
Underneath the willow tree
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I've never really truly understood loss or death until this year. Even now I'm still figuring it out.
This, coupled with mental health issues, has made for one of the most bittersweet years of my life.
And so here you have it, suicide and death, two subjects commonly shied away from, tied into a weaving knot in the form of poetry.