My grandmother had a poem she
Would often-times repeat to me
“By your year of thirty and three, the world will become dead to thee.”
On into the night, she’d go
At my bedside; candles low
Her sing-song poem only known
By the two of us
Her voice was raspy, her tone was true, she sang,
“They’ll wonder what became of you
after you reach thirty and two…
Now, sleep, my lil one.
Tell no one of our song
For, not one would believe.
Imagine the pain that you might cause
Should you cause upset to me.”
Then, Grandmother would blow out the light
And Darkness would abound
My chest was tight
As I’d struggle against
The thing that had me bound
I’d scream all night inside myself
Till morning’s light was found
~
Years came and went, so quickly it seems
As I lived my life
Still bound by Grandmother’s curse to me
I was a good woman, mother and wife
Till came a day, the last day of
My life, year twenty and nine
A wish was granted me
On that day
When Grandmother was doomed to die
The call went out with the chill of the evening
That Grandmother had fallen ill
Along with the others I ran to the place
Where her body grew more still than still
I could not help but watch the clock
On this eve when I’d turn thirty and aught
Could it be that I’d been blood bought
And she would go away
On and on I watched, you see
Until eleven twenty three
When her breath grew shallow
Her skin went pale
And her heart refused to beat
As I stood by, holding her hand
Amongst her family and a few close friends
I could not help but smile
As those around me cried tears of sorrow
I knew that I’d now have tomorrow
And the Shadow she’d cast over me
Was blown into eternity
And, when my time became thirty and three
I’d live to see the dawn
I am now fifty and one
And, till now, have told no single soul
Of the sing-song poem that Grandmother sang to me
Oh, so long ago
~
‘Blood by blood, until it sleeps,
a promise made is one to keep.’
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