A poem of a childhood and a life foredoomed.


Though I Walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death

Into this world I, too, was born
touched—was born with the hand of God
upon my crown; a son of scorn
who fled to the rich land of Nod,
a land of hope and the sweet corn,
of much to curse and much to laud.

Through angels, I witnessed lightning
fall from the sky—saw its true power
in my little hands tightening!
But hatred was an evil flower
that had risen in the ripening
of my childhood's tenderest hour.

Oh, but alas! Alas! Dare I
catch a glimpse of the Grim Reaper,
the angel of death who stood by;
and into its shroud peer deeper,
into its face just before I die
as a departed, dead sleeper!?




Poetry by Ngoc Nguyen The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 87 times
Written on 2021-07-19 at 01:47

Tags God  Death  Childhood 

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