An Appointment With Death On the 44th Floor
Beads of sweat
On my head
Sodden and sore
In my sick bed
The last battle lost
Can’t fight anymore
As I lay dying on the 44th floor
The elevator makes
A slow ascent
Something inside
With just one intent
Air cools I am chilled
Right to the core
As I lay dying on the 44th floor
No more to do,
much too late
To argue with
My destined fate
Skeletal fingers
Tap, tap at my door
As I lay dying on the 44th floor
Soulless eye sockets
Like two bottomless pits
On the end of my bed
The reaper there sits
Whispering “Oh what a treat
For you is in store”
As I lay dying on the 44th floor
The fire in the hearth
Gave death a strange glow
Throat parched and dry,
Tried to yell "no"
The glimpse of a scythe,
The last thing I saw
As I lay dead on the 44th floor
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
