Crook Faux Demise
Intrigue drips like an elegant sauterne
From her cool amethyst eyes
Flashing like moonlight gems a burn
Radiating a ghostly pallor guise
A whoosh is heard from a midnight wind
Rustling the summer wheat ready to thresh
As if a specter is trying to escape the sin
Of a maul swinging death
She is gone in an instant
Graft hued apparition
Fleeing the crook ascent
Of the reaper's scythe intent
Poetry by Kee Zealy
Read 430 times
Written on 2009-03-10 at 15:03
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Brian Oarr |
