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Death, the Howling Wind

Death, the howling, moaning wind The dying can't ignore-- It scratches at the window pane And slaps the shudder door. Then cruelly taps upon the roof With incessant, mocking strain-- And stops, but only for a breath, Then begins to howl again.

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Mel Merrill

Date: 4/12/2014 2:37:00 PM

Yep, I feel it too, and I don't like it. A cool, gentle breeze is nice, but I dislike the wind. The bitter with the sweat, I guess. Hope all is well in Sara's world. Come back soon my friend. Inspiration and peace. mel :)

Sara Kendrick

Date: 4/12/2014 7:50:00 AM

Interesting work and topic chosen..At times I feel that wind upon my neck..It is getting closer and closer..Thanks for the visit..Sara

Mel Merrill
Date: 4/12/2014 2:39:00 PM

What a dunce! I just commented myself. The above comment is obviously for you.

Andrea Dietrich

Date: 4/10/2014 9:00:00 PM

If you don't mind me saying something. This is one of the best poems I saw tonight but I felt the last stanza was too different from the way you were describing things in the first two stanzas. I think the first two stanzas stand very well by themselves. Anyway, I loved your metaphor for death.

Mel Merrill
Date: 4/10/2014 11:33:00 PM

Thanks Andrea, and I don't mind at all. I really do value the feedback--and I listen. Watch how quickly that last stanza disappears. Glad you liked the first two, though, which is how it was originally written. Thanks again. Gotta go edit :) Hugs // mel