Get Your Premium Membership

Deathwards Go I

Deathwards go I—
Through this needle’s narrowing eye
Called Life, — 
With mortal Thread stitched—.

If garment be weaved—
From Life by the Weaver’s loom;
Then weaved was 
I by Him— ‘til worn and creased 
Out of shape into Death’s cold womb—.






Copyright © | Year Posted 2017




Post Comments
Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.