Death Grip
Clutched in my hands
with a deathly cold grip
are a quill dipped in ink
and a parchment with a poem
half written, yet unfinished.
I was writing about
the heavy-handedness
of the Grim Reaper…
cruel, cold and heartless.
Too soon was taken away
my love from me
leaving me brokenhearted and glum.
Grieving for days and nights
Wailing over my lost love,
I vowed to seek revenge
and expose death’s darkest core.
Becoming at once privy to
my innermost sinister thoughts,
Death sneaked behind me and
laid his heavy hand upon my shoulder…
Leaving a half written poem
and the ink-dripping quill
still clenched in my hands!
~Early June Standard Contest by Brian Strand.
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