Sharp tongued


Archery

You have injured me
Yet another time
As I lay succumbing to
My wounds again.

I predicted it
When you sat
In the room
Lethally sharpening
The tip of your
Arrow and dipping it
In your little bottle
Of poison.
Then when I walked
Unsuspectingly
Past you to fetch some
Water, you shot
Your arrow
In my chest
Leaving no chance
Of escape,
As I wriggle
For my last
Gasps of breath.

A dainty rabbit
Dies in what
It once called
Its home,
Fatally wounded
With words
Pierced
In its heart.




Poetry by Neelima
Read 944 times
Written on 2008-03-14 at 06:57

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John Lambremont, Sr.
I like this one a lot. Remember too that pens can be as sharp and poisoned as tongues
2008-03-14


Kathy Lockhart
this reaches to the heart of death whether it be literally or figuratively. Either way, it is a cruel and filled with suffering. Well expressed.
2008-03-14