PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I thought the earth remembere me,

she took me back so tenderly,

but there I sat alone.

I thought this was my home.

They casted me aside,

hopeful I would die.

They hung me from a rope,

it was then that I lost hope.

But after dying thrice,

living felt so nice,

"I will not die again"

I knew it was a lie.

But why can I not die?

Is this my second chance?

Is this my final price?

It's painful at first glance,

I thought it would be nice.

This is what I get for trying.

This is what I get for dying.

This is what I get for life,

this is what I get for lying.