The Summerland

The Summerland


I sit down in my room
thinking of what to say
for the next day it will happen again
a beating from my father
to his own daughter
My friends notice the cuts and bruises a lot
they ask what went on
I tell them nothing has gone wrong,
I just fell off my bed
or sports practice was extra long
they don't know that indeed I lie

I really used to try
I would fight him off with my bare fists
but it was like throwing a boomerang
although it came back ten times harder,
ten times faster.
He tosses me to the ground.
He is extremely mad today,
for he was fired from his job.
the job he used to pay for mingling
and drinking at the bar.
The bar just down the road.

He takes his fist,
sweaty from anxiety,
and drops it down across my jaw.
I pressure myself not to flinch,
nor to cry.
for i know one day,
these tragic memories will be forgotten,
when i give up and die.

I've always hoped for that moment to come.
To go to the Summerland.
Were there are no beatings,
there is no anger.
The place were you could dream of butterflies,
and in front of you they will appear.
No doubt the place i could be same,
the place i would not fear.

He thrusts his fist back at me several times.
I'm thinking this is it.
This is the night i wait no longer.
This is the day i die.

Then everything goes black.
Like I'm in a world full of shadows.
But surly there is no light.
I hear sounds.
But that's the only sense i can seem to use.
I hear sirens of many.
The talking of men non-stop.
Don't they know I'm dead?
I guess they will find out soon.
All my senses are coming back to me now.
I feel a lifting sensation.
Like the first snowfall you see as a child.
But this ones more calming then exciting.
I look, as i see i am in a birds eye view of my own passing.
I hear the high pitch sound of the generator
that is hooked up to my heart beat.
stop beating.
My dream,
a flat line.
Suddenly every things gone,
disappeared.
And i am in a marvelous meadow,
flowers scattered all along the dew sweet grass.
As if to greet me.

I see many people here.
I figure they all died to.
I even see some i recognize.
Like that lovely girl Lucy.
From my class.
The class i used to go to,
before i died and passed.

Then i see her.
Her warm smile still painted across her face.
Her eyes hazel,
and the smell of the purple flower from Paris.
The one named the Lilac.
It is my mother.
The one who came here six years ago,
when a truck crossed her path.
We wave, hug, laugh and cry happily.
I may have died at a young age of only fourteen.
But that happens everyday right?
I am with my mother now.
I even met up with my dog Sam,
and my grandma to.
I am happy here.
This place is my haven.
I am finally in
the Summerland.