Wednesday, April 13, 2005


the kid lies on the bed writing
he is writing of love and sadness
and behind him, coming out of the wall
a looming doom in shape of a spectral
a sickle in one hand and parchment in the other
traces a finger down his spine
sends shivers everywhere followed by numbness
and then his heart... oh the piercing pain
he collapses, his pen bleeds into the cotton
his breath stolen and he becomes one with the forgotten

© 2001 thomas bates

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

this is an asome poem keep writing like this and you will be published