my grandson was taken by his mum when hence,
this scribble at one of my lowest points.
He lives with us know. I'm trying to correct mistakes,
in doing so i pressed the wrong button.
As eating a meal for one.
While sitting in a crowded room.
Looking through the windows,
watching the midday sun.
Was the love I gave never received,
or was it something in the past,
that made them leave.
Or was the love only felt by one;
Sweet Marie or Rob,
my ever loving grandson.
Remembering well that bright summer morn,
feeling shattered;
As from my very being their love was torn.
In denial i begin to weep,
only stopping when tiredness gets to much,
then i fall asleep.
Waking in disbelief i wonder,
was loving them my only blunder.
Again i begin to cry;
if only i could have faced them,
i could have said that hated word;
Goodbye.
The word that ripped my soul apart,
on that fateful day.
Then left me with a broken heart,
still weeping, as on the bed i lay.
I sit caressing my only friend,
as though my old revolver knows;
For one of us our life will end.
Pointing the gun towards my head,
with shoulders slumped;
On a dead mans bed.
Wondering when their hatred began,
no they didn't just walk out; They ran.
Feeling as though I've been put upon a rack,
no fragments of happiness left.
I Pull the trigger; Then feel the gun barrel crack.
What cruel twist of fate,
as again i fail.
I feel as though my body's withered,
like a dried up snail.
Uncontrollably i begin to cry,
but no longer feeling so alone.
I here these loving words,
high grandad we're home.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
Read 56 times
Written on 2026-09-10 at 02:31
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this scribble at one of my lowest points.
He lives with us know. I'm trying to correct mistakes,
in doing so i pressed the wrong button.
LOVE IS FOUR HUNDRED MILES AWAY
There's nothing so lonely;As eating a meal for one.
While sitting in a crowded room.
Looking through the windows,
watching the midday sun.
Was the love I gave never received,
or was it something in the past,
that made them leave.
Or was the love only felt by one;
Sweet Marie or Rob,
my ever loving grandson.
Remembering well that bright summer morn,
feeling shattered;
As from my very being their love was torn.
In denial i begin to weep,
only stopping when tiredness gets to much,
then i fall asleep.
Waking in disbelief i wonder,
was loving them my only blunder.
Again i begin to cry;
if only i could have faced them,
i could have said that hated word;
Goodbye.
The word that ripped my soul apart,
on that fateful day.
Then left me with a broken heart,
still weeping, as on the bed i lay.
I sit caressing my only friend,
as though my old revolver knows;
For one of us our life will end.
Pointing the gun towards my head,
with shoulders slumped;
On a dead mans bed.
Wondering when their hatred began,
no they didn't just walk out; They ran.
Feeling as though I've been put upon a rack,
no fragments of happiness left.
I Pull the trigger; Then feel the gun barrel crack.
What cruel twist of fate,
as again i fail.
I feel as though my body's withered,
like a dried up snail.
Uncontrollably i begin to cry,
but no longer feeling so alone.
I here these loving words,
high grandad we're home.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
Read 56 times
Written on 2026-09-10 at 02:31
