We won't forget.
The things you did to us were
horrible,
in a way,
that makes you want to forget.
But we won't.
You were cruel and manipulative,
hardly caring,
whether we cried.
But now we understand.
Everyone has their own way,
of letting out pain.
This was yours.
To scream, to shout,
to torment.
All were commonplace,
for you.
We thought you were evil.
Maybe you were.
But deep inside,
the pain felt by you,
was far greater than,
the pain felt by us.
Your sickness
made you this way.
And you curse,
was more devastating than ours.
We could still love,
still live, for
maybe a hundred years more.
But you would die before thirty.
And your worst fear,
was that you would be forgotten.
It took a girl,
a total outsider,
to show us this.
And now,
you are gone.
Dead.
Maybe we should be happy,
for your shadow no longer hangs over us.
But why aren't we?
We aren't
because
you were just a boy.
A pathetic,
hateful boy,
but yet...
You were our leader,
our head of house.
Like a god,
you led over us.
And now,
you lead us no more.
Akito Sohma.
We will never forget you.
A/N: Why is it that all my poems end up being horrible unless they're about the American Revolution? sigh Ah, well, it can't be helped. Unless you're weren't paying attention, you'll have realized that this poem is about Akito Sohma's death. sob It's so sad that he has to die before he's thirty. WAH! Comment and criticism would be nice.