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Why did you have to die ?

I can’t live with out you hand holding mine

By Marie381Uk Published 12 months ago 1 min read
By George’s Girl 2025

Why Did You Have to Die

I sit where we once walked,

where your hand fit into mine,

where laughter spilled like golden light,

before time stole you away.

The moon hangs low, watching,

as if it, too, remembers

the promises whispered between

the wind and the hush of our fading days.

Your name lingers on my lips,

a ghost of syllables, soft and aching.

I pluck a single poppy, as red

love that still bleeds inside me.

The road stretches on, empty,

each petal a step you can’t take back.

And though the flowers still bloom,

you are nowhere to be found.

I whisper to the night,

but the night does not answer.

I was yours before I was my own,

a life built from the warmth of your hands,

from the sound of your voice in the quiet,

but now the quiet is all that remains.

Loneliness curls beside me

like a faithful companion,

filling the hollow you left behind.

No footsteps, no laughter, no you.

Only silence, only longing,

only time dragging its heavy feet

toward an end that will finally

bring me back to you.

I do not know how to be without you.

Every thought still about your name,

every breath carries your absence,

and the world has turned to echoes.

The house is a tomb, cold and empty,

our bed a vast and empty sea.

I wake reaching for you,

grasping at shadows,

only to find the weight of the void.

The days long together, dark and gray,

nothing touches me but the wind,

and even it cannot hold me

the way you did.

I carry on, not out of will,

but because the earth has not yet

called me home.

But when it does,

when the last poppy wilts,

when the road stretches no more,

I will find you waiting

and this loneliness will end.

Free Verseheartbreaklove poemssad poetry

About the Creator

Marie381Uk

I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️

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