Monday morning blues, the hues from the rusted lantern sprinkle on the walls.
A shadow sways swiftly through the open door, into the halls.
The night prior, a monster filled the spaces in your head.
You seem to be a stain on the sheets, spilled ink upon the bed.
A heartbeat seems to be the only sound you can hear.
Well, my sweet angel… this is it — you’re in fear.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.