He is here knocking
gently like a child
should the door open;
death will enter
coming to clamor
this clam and place
me into a sealed shell,
now he is pounding
the heart skips a beat
with each rattle;
the door open's, his face
it's it's flesh eaten
I run and hide but...
it's time to die
my blankets scatter
his long fingernails
pierce the heart juggler,
blood gushes warmth grows
cold and null, voided
from life to ghostly ways
A contest entry
- IT'S NOT DARK YET, BUT IT'S GETTING THERE... by cheaphotelsign.
425 points, ended September 1, 2008, 9 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
this is a fantastic personification of death...lots of vivid images for the mind to play with...thank you very much for this entry...best wishes
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i thought it was really good. your word choices made the poem come alive.
you're a good writer.
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