The last of her years

The first tug in my heart

An unceremonious dig

Perhaps, solely, to keep us apart.

My mother was there

In a chair by the window

Staring so far away

Into the depths of the meadow.

The sky at which I looked

Became a veil for her soul

I walked into the swaying field

To place her in the respective hole.

How can we be so cruel

To trap someone under our feet

To someday turn into flowing oil

Forged from time and pressured heat.

I placed a tiny silver bell

On the very edge of the wheat field

Now grass grows where my tears fell-

A place where plants refuse to yield.

Katy's soul is running now-

Into the blanket of the sky,

What a beautiful place to lay and rest

Black clouds - the beauty in her eye.

I met you, friend, one summer

Just a block down from my road

I thought you were love and I some ink-

Following wherever my pen flowed.

God must be some cruel falcon-

Swift onto His prey

His flying, high - His circles, round

Above your home, where you would stay.

You died, and you left me

We were both so naive-

He found you and snatched you up

Much faster than I had percieved.

Everyday thereafter-

I took to my own thought

I slept in light and mourned the night

A place, so diligently sought.

I always wondered why you were sad-

Your mother's drunk, your father's where?

Were they loving? I do not know,

But I shall always care.

To the cemetery-

I receive one final look-

Of you sealed shut, far from my eyes

And placed inside your tiny nook.

I often wander back there,

To touch the ground once more

A beautiful yet dreadful place

Is this field, which I implore.

There is a forest near

A pond and stream

And sitting beside me

A true loves dream.

The image complete

With sound and smell

There is no better spot

Than this field where we both dwell.

How can I escape from here-

It seems that I am trapped.

And everywhere - Except my mind

This place remains unmapped.

Jake Finley is an eleventh-grade student a Maryville High School.