Words drowned in tears is where my pen lingers,
I tend to dwell in sad aspects of life;
the dead, the lost, mournful pale ghost fingers-
Melancholy night thought like a sharp knife;
in my broken, fragile spirit, stabbing-
I chant a song to keep the ghosts away.
Oh why, do they haunt me with hand grabbing!
Can they not stay in tombs in their decay?
About dark death I tend to write my words!
Sometimes, I pen poems of nature sweet,
in cemeteries green with trees sing birds,
and deep and beautiful graveyard words meet.
--------------- October 1, 2016 ---------------
For the contest, A Poem in Iambic Pentameter
sponsor, Janice Carnedy
Rhyming checked on RhymeZone.Com
Syllables checked on HowManySyllables.Com
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2016