The Death Of
The Death Of
Thank you Moneca, for all that you shared with me,
experienced with me.
Thank you for all that you would give to me.
Thank you Moneca, for hope, hope that there might have been
a life at the end of that tunnel, the tunnel that has become
a black hole, a black hole of my own creation
from which I am unable to drag myself.
It sucks me in, ever deeper, with each passing moment.
I have dug my own grave
and in it, I will sadly lay.
Regret the only flowers that rest against my tomb,
Slowly creeping over my head stone.
B. J. “A” 2
April 17th 2007
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.
