Who will write the obituary
For the lost soul,
The one that hid from the world
Any truth of identity?
Too many times when
Hands stretched forth,
They were smacked away
Feelings pulled astray.
Lies, they called,
Sure that the truth denied.
So who writes the obituary,
When no one saw the truth
In what was said?
Pattimouse 
The friends are shocked
The family are confused
The co-workers disbelieve
The teachers cannot explain
The preacher recites the prayers
“She always said she was fine.”
“He seemed so happy.”
“How could we have known?”
The lines were there
Waiting to be read between.
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Exactly.
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Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
Pattimaouse – a Quicksilver Poem
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