FreeWrights Peer Review™

Quiet breaths and soft steps into my room so quiet,
The boy is writing poetry on my walls.
Placing a marker down on a desk in the dim light of my sleeping,
The boy has written poetry on my walls.

Waking up to rays of light through the glass,
I'm finding the boy's poetry written on my walls.
Looking with drowsy eyes and thinking of the brand new day,
I found the boy's poetry written on my walls.

Standing tall and executing a proud, fearless voice,
The boy is reciting poetry that he's written on my walls.
Convoluted thoughts in his bed at night,
The boy recited poetry that he's written on my walls.

He's suffering from disease.
Coughing and wheezing, lacking the ability to breathe.
Rectal prolapse is well on it's way.

Deceased due to a suffering of which there was no choice,
All the boy's poetry is still there on my walls.

Interesting theme or storyline. Your treatment of it works well. I hope it is fiction and not real.

I liked the way you approach this poem. I couldn't stop reading.

Sergio