When Death Dies
Amber of golden flakes wither to a crisp
And green vines slither up the tree's limb.
Hills flourish up around like a wind's cold wisp
That leaves nothing more than this Grim.
Wrenched cries have eternalized
Its great wrath to say the very least.
How must this loving soul be fertilised?
For faults subsided have been released.
Vast gray savannas gloom the soul's tongue.
Rolling fogs cross lands, fearing nothing to bloom.
A deep abyss that cleanses your minds of gloom,
Fork the everglades to trench the spirit unrung.
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.
