On my night stand,
There lays my mothers,
Thoughts.

Her thoughts are there.
Spoken so loud,
But heard so silently.

Sometimes I think she,
Wants out!
Wants out of the words,
That’s written on paper back to our world.

But unfortunately that
Can’t happen because,
She’s not here
To bring it back to life or,
Dance or sing to her jams back to
Reality.

I read her diary page by page.
I have so many questions.
Why?
Why is the big question!
Why do I ask why?
When your not here to answer me.


The last words
You wrote in your diary were
“It’s time to go”

Why?
When there’s so much I have to know.




R.I.P
Lashawn Diana Murray
(Your never forgotten)