Skeleton
I am the prisoner of the ice voices
That talk to me with a lashing air
About cold and dark lands
Where forever, I will find my grave.
Chilled by the cold speech,
I let myself be hurt by the iciness of their words,
While I stir in the extinguished embers of life
With a long bone from my leg.
With a strange black hat
And with an old rag as a suit,
Without companions to urge me on their way,
I remain a skeleton in a clay tomb.
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.
