So, Marley Was Right After All
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The frozen soil crumbled,
falling into my eyes and horrified mouth,
as I gripped the sodden roots on the rim of the pit,
my strength waning, (and my will).
At the bottom of the hole, a wooden casket,
yawning like the jaws of Death itself,
lid open and shaking like a splintered tongue,
the glow of Hell's embers below it ...
flames licking its sides and reaching up to the soles of my feet,
but not with heat, rather, an intolerable coldness
that made my marrow ache for an end.
As my grasp weakened,
and the roots of the twisted old tree slipped thru my hands,
I looked up at the stars, winking like candles,
and said a prayer for my soul,
the crooked, bony finger of the Reaper
wagging with reproach,
his coal black eyes sparkling and lifeless,
as the sky drew away ...
and I fell ... to my wretched doom.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Contest Number 535 Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2018
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