When It Strikes Poem by Ransom Ossy

When it strikes, faces wet.
Your absence anyone can bet
Unmoveably stuck like an iron peg.
A shoe that can't fit another leg.

the breadwinner loses the game.
Breadeaters inherit his name.
No gold-mine no fame.
Life never remains the same.

A beloved daughter. Yes your queen.
So loved and now thirteen.
Her presence pulls smile from your face.
Welcoming you with a warm embrace.

A son! Yes your Junior boy.
Speaking with him brings you joy.
The first word learned was 'dad'.
You smiled and said 'thats my Lad'


Your wife! Yes ur dearest one.
A mother to your daughter and son
few years ago you gave her a ring.
Now left with a dirge to sing.

Your mum! Yes you cherish her.
Never wanted to go too far.
Should be the first to use the door.
Now you did, and what is more?

'You are gone' cries the bereaved.
You are not where you once lived.
Left your loved ones behind.
With a heavy heart and mind.

Your son, your daughter and your wife
Your mum who somehow gave you life.
Left with the question of 'How to cope'
Answered by the resurrection hope.
Ransomossy...