He was a small boy with dark brown hair,
He had a freckle here and there,
An Orange Coat he wore all day,
Brendan Norwood was an outcast and didn't have much to say:
Everyone stared and pointed at the boy in the Orange Coat,
They stared teased and giggled at him.
But what they didn't realize was that they were murdering the boy in the Orange Coat.
Murdering with Words.
The boy in the Orange Coat left the school,
Looking for a bully-free place to go.
What he didn't know was that life was just getting harder,
He was now Lower than Low.
A lonely Church steeple rings with sorrow.
The pews chip away dark brown finish like a snake shedding its skin.
Stained glass windows reflect the heavenly light.
A Church, Alone in a Field.
The boy in the Orange Coat has now died and is climbing the stairs to heaven.
We wonder: Is it my fault?We didn't realize what he taught us, it's too complicated for words.
Only You can Feel it.B-E-L-I-E-V-E
This poem is dedicated to my classmate, B. Norwood who passed away in February 2007. I hope this is a reminder to everyone to respect others because you never know when it's going to be their last day on Earth.