MY FIRST LOVE KILLED HERSELF ~BY PRESLEY PARKER
My first love killed herself,
Not in the way you think,
Not with a gun to her head,
Poem on grief
HER BURIAL UNKNOWN ~BY DIYA LEPCHA
She got those gorgeous brown eyes,
So deep that one couldn’t return, even if they tried,
Perhaps it’s due to the precious tears she cries.
Left with none to wipe her eyes.
FATHERS DAY~ BY AGNES WONG
One Year Ago
I see the melancholy in my mirror as I rise and remember
One year ago I lost my father the 31st of December
I hear a silence that replays its own piercing echo
One year ago an audience sat in mourning row after row