One Death Every Thirteen Minutes

This hour glass made of rubber and steel

A single moment left to appeal

Is there a god to be found in these thoughts?

Tie these last moments up in bows and knots

Red sand falling down through the cracks

A second left, please just relax--

Slide along the black lands reach

Scream on steal as wheels screech

Are the roses found upon that ground

As red as flowers that your garden crowned?

This series of unfortunate events

More real then some poems contents.

In memory I can see it now

Oranges picked from the lowest bough

Birthdays spent running under glittering lights

Stained dresses washed and mended tights

Pancit made and sodas poured

Engines grumbling, running from my fathers Ford

Like a clock that has run down

Never will you make another sound.

All these words have reached their end

Written here to let this heart mend