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Good Days

“Good days, remember the good days,” everyone said.
I sat in front of my parent's tombs and nodded.
The good days? I should remember the worst ones.
So I can cry once
Because after this, it will be unacceptable to cry again.
For them, at least.
After today, they will die once again, and this time it truly will be forever.
A hand on my shoulder “Good days dear, remember them.”
I cannot seem to remember any.

Forty- five years later, when I am on my deathbed staring at my white ceiling, staring at a crowd of familiar faces watching me.
I suddenly remember
“Ah, yes, those were the good days.”
A tear slides down my cheek as those days do not stop blooming before my eyes.
Eyes glazing over, I faintly smile at the sickening, sympathetic silence in my room but the joyous sounds in my head.
How was it so hard to remember these so long ago?
They cannot seem to stop now.
Suddenly, the fact that I cried one day for my parents seems so unfair.
How could I have ever let them die again?
They were there when I was brought to this world, and now they seem to be here when I am leaving.
I hope someone continues to cry for me
So, I will not forever die again.
Now that I am on this bed, I realize what it means to have only one moment to cry.
Oh, the good days, I hope I never have difficulty finding them again.

Style / type: 
Free verse
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Last few words: 
I was in my kitchen, and this idea suddenly came to me, and I wanted to write about it. Somehow, we forget that our life is our own story, and we will one day look back at each page. We'll do this because we'll be at the end, and no matter how much we beg, another page will not be written. So, I wrote this poem to show anyone who reads this: Be aware of the smallest things that bring you happiness, the pieces that encourage you to feel. Work hard each day, so in your last, you're proud. P.S.- I know I said I want some raw criticism up there but at the same time I don't. I don't know. I just want this poem to help someone think.
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

your poem very well, and saw the reasoning behind this write. Yes, someday we will wonder, where did those good days go?
"How could I let them die again?" The line that touched my heart. The only question I have, is if you are on your deathbed, why the line: "Oh, the good days, I hope that I never have difficulty finding them again." ? Maybe a little re-work, to clear that up? ~ Geez.
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It seems that the days and hours that people
are available for chatroom are staggered and
not a good match for most everyone. How about
if everyone just shows up at the door, whenever
they have a few free minutes?

I understand your confusion on the line: "Oh, the good days, I hope that I never have difficulty finding them again.
In my head, the person on the deathbed is saying this because they wish that even when they pass away and go to where ever dead people go, they still have these memories with them.
Also, thank you for reading and I'm glad it touched your heart.

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