Poems

When Death Stings

I could not see for all the smoke ascending, nor make out a peculiar voice. No beloved known. No one new befriending. All that has now ended. Death. Awful, black, curdling death... is around me, is above me, is below me, is in me. What can I even say? Only this forevermore, "Ahhhhhhhh!" "Ah, that

By |2023-05-24T18:05:19+00:00April 22nd, 2018|Poems|