All is silent, except for the hollow breathing of the cold, icy figure.
Nothing can break her out of this trans,
as she waltzes silently with the Grim Reaper.
His marble, boney fingers trace up and down her back,
she shivers delicately, somehow calm and relaxed.
His long black robes flow around him, framing his shape,
"Stay with me", he pleas,
"I do," she vows.
Even if she wanted to,
she could not escape his glance.
She stares into his endless, black eyes
as he glides her across the dark room.
She rests her head on his lifeless chest,
closes her eyes and says hello to death....
Oh my that was fantastic. Is it bad I saw myself as death in that though?
ReplyDeleteThat's really good! I hope you write more! x
ReplyDeleteThis is really great writing!
ReplyDeletewww.modernworld4.blogspot.com
Always appreciate dark poetry.
ReplyDeleteLove your peom. Write on. You`re on the right track.
This is good- I especially like the punch of the last two lines
ReplyDeletethis is a really great poem. Good job! :) now following!
ReplyDeletealso love the background!
Juliet
www.apurplesky.blogspot.com
scary, you captured the petit mort moment - brava.
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