Comments Inbox
| |
About This Poem
It
It lies in 7x3 black ornate box,
While infinity leisurely tick tocks,
Slumbering insomniac sleep,
Biding it's immortal time,
Its insatiable thirst sublime,
Keeping crimson eyes on sheep.
Horridly smiling with sharp fangs,
Hushing the cramping hunger pangs.
Just a box full of decaying bone,
A void of endless darkness its soul,
Crawlies companions in the inky hole.
Unfeeling in a grave with faded tombstone.
Exploring curious passerby,
Spy "Watch your step." Wonder why?
Until it spirits you to its feeding Lear.
Unconsecrated ground pungent, barren,
Mortals nothing but festering carrion.
Who ever said life was fair.
|
|
|