Death cast his fiery eyes on me

Death cast his fiery eyes on me
on this glowy November evening.
The sorrowful image of the raindrops on my window pane
the withered flowers lying dead on my hands--
smells like death is coming over
for a drink or two.

Death cast his demonic eyes on me
from deep down hell voices are calling me
friends from the old times of youth,
friends that once cherished every moment spent with me
friends I got wasted with and had to say goodbye--
all the images of my life pass before my eyes like a movie
because death is knocking on my door.

How long will I wait until he touches me with his cold hand?
it is been days I'm lying here, on this empty bed
too weak to speak, too dreary to cry
too introverted to answer to the knocks on the door
too desperate to attempt to live---
for I can feel
that death casts his fiery eyes on me.

Poetry by Eva
Read 815 times
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Written on 2010-11-07 at 01:43

Tags Death 

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I like the style, the nature, of your poem. The first line brings to mind the dramatic speaking style of a fire and brimstone preacher; or, a fateful Emily Dickinson. That you end with the same line is effective. In between is life, the agony and the ecstasy.

"Glowy November" and death stopping by for a drink or two are great images.

I'm looking forward to reading more of your poems.