Glue boi (pprkutted) wrote, @ 2003-08-07 19:30:00

Death greets him warm
Like the heat from
The fire of dying life
Only the hearth
Can keep the poor man warm
The last place for his swollen soul
The eye
Of a weary man
Starts to slowly
close into sleep
What was once his
Is now gone
Left only with memories
Of yesterday's past
Roaming the earth
For his last few days
He stares at his past
And watches his fall
From the heights of a killing man
To the man he sees in the mirror
Torn and withered
He sleeps so soundly
In the depths,
Of his everlasting hell?


-From an assignment for the book December Stillness...

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