Dead
Dead's he who binds himself in his own cage
Who lets his love consumed by his own rage
Like withered pile of leaves in yellow wood
Where flies flocked to tear its flesh where it stood
For, deadened heart is as good as the dead
Like a log that just lies in its own bed
Like a flesh filled with aches but does not bleed
But inside, worms of pride gather to feed
1st place
Copyright © R. B. Cawis | Year Posted 2023
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