20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers

Till Nothing was Left



This poem is not for my precious son, whose death
took everything from me that I hung on to, believed in.
It is for those who can’t  see that I am still here.
but I have been forced to live in a world where there
is not glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.

I’m so tired of it all, so tired of the lies.
The further I fall, the higher you rise.

It takes all I have, each moment I try,
I give and I give, till I think I will die.

I’m sorry that I was never enough,
My heart is long dead, the road’s been so rough.

All that I have, I have given to you.
And what have I left?  No joy and no you.

Just leave me here in my prison, my home,
Cause when you are here, I still feel alone.

Not a thing I’ve endured, suffered, survived.
Has helped you to notice,  that I’m still alive.

I still feel, I still hope, I still love, I still try.
Somehow through the darkness, I still survive.

Take just one heartbeat, one touch, one breath,
And remember I will love you till nothing is left.

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Author: beebeesworld

I have a degree in public history research. I love writing, photography, cooking, teaching, nature studies. I'm a mom and grandmom, an "old hippie".

4 thoughts on “Till Nothing was Left

  1. Your words have taken my breath away. My eyes are filled with tears. Your sorrow is endless. You think you have nothing left and there is no light in your tunnel. Well you are wrong. You have so much inside that is pouring out of you. It is your love for your son. Your expression will keep him alive in a way that will someday inspire you and the pain will ease into something else. It will happen. I have no idea how long it has been since he died.
    My son died 20 years ago. I’ll never forget him. I died inside to be with him for such a long time, but now I’m alive because I understand that my suffering has given me clarity about life. Our time here is unknown. Each moment is precious and grief robs us of our own life.
    Celebrate your beautiful son’s live by finding joy in life again. It is possible. I never would have believed it would ever be for me. I held out hope and waited.
    Don’t give up.

  2. As you can see in the picture , its been 6 years. I have my moments when I feel strong-I fake my way through dinners, activities, but I just lost so much when I lost him, my health, faith, the closeness with my family. U feel like I have let my anger come out and when I didnt get the kind of support I felt I needed, it just got worse and worse-the poem is a way to try to let go of some of that. I have moments of hope and moments of complete despair. Thanks for your encouragement. I had serious doubts about putting this blog on here-)I almost feel like I shouldnt have, I have gotten so many comments that make me feel like I have saddened others…beebee

    • The whole point of writing for me is HONESTY. What else is there? You are expressing feelings that are true for you. No one else can feel what you are going through and it is your gift to find the words to express yourself. People that don’t like sadness can read bland things – of which there is plenty!
      Your soul has been amputated. Like an arm missing, you’ve adjusted and carry scars that no one can visibly see. But that adjustment will continue. Six years is a long time and the horror is still there. Even with family support, no one bears your personal sorrow but you.
      Please don’t ever stop yourself because of concern about what others think of your writing. Believe it or not, the more you express your sorrow, the lighter you will feel. Keeping your sadness inside is a heavy cross to bear. Release your pain and share. You will find there are many other people grieving who will appreciate your words.
      This poem is amazing. It succinctly says what every bereaved parent has felt.
      The only part that is missing is the ending where you discover that there is hope. You will always remember your son. But it won’t be because nothing is left. It will be because you fill up the empty space again with something else. It will happen. He is with you inside – never imagine that he will leave you.
      Do I have your permission to share your poem on my blog, as well as our exchange? I think it will help other people, too.

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