Solomon

Comments (0) Writing, Poetry, Death, Issue 5

By Hannah Deneve

6 months old.
	He brings life and energy to a home that so desperately needs it. 
	His youthful wonder and immense happiness is a welcome addition, 
	Bringing just a little sunshine to the darkness. 
	The world is his playground. 
	No need for toys. 
	No. 
	All he needs is a good rock, 
	And that alone can keeps him going for hours.
11 years and 5 months old.
	He brings life and energy to a home that so desperately needs it. 
	Though his youth has since faded, 
	His wonder and happiness has not. 
	And of course, rocks are still his plaything of choice. 
	But despite everything, 
	Despite the doctor visits, 
	Despite all the meds, 
	Nothing can stop the severe decline 
	Of his once-vibrant energy. 
	He has changed.
	He no longer runs ‘round the yard for hours like he once had. 
	He no longer sits there, begging endlessly for scraps. 
	No. 
	He is no longer himself, the once joyous and simple creature. 
	This isn’t him. 
	He is now sad and tired.
	     It is his time. 
	Despite our protestations—despite everything—it is time. 
	That night we bid our farewells. 
	He gave our home the life and energy it so desperately needed.
11 years and 5 months old.

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