Garden of Bones
The inevitable reaper
whose shadow is grim
He waits for his victims
as their heartbeats fade
He collects their last breath
as a grim souvenir
His garden of bones
Blooms only grief,
Another soul is leaving,
He gathers his scythe ...
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