Doom
I hear sirens of my demise
wailing in the distance,
warning me of impending doom,
their strangling tune
discordant and angry,
marching toward certain death,
reaper’s fingers, an ancient breath,
and I have nowhere to hide.
Copyright © Jim Tidd | Year Posted 2014
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment