Death is more than a word


Drab sarcophaguses whisper at night's edge,
slide silently into wintry, flake white openings;
dark eyes of snowy hearts that still beat
are lost at the center of fast living diatribes
where still no raison d'ętre is to be found.

Who calls for more when there is less?
Dark shadows of collective guilt flicker
in rooms where no house wolf ever ate.
The dark frozen air smells of more snow,
free is he who can go without regret.




Poetry by Bob
Read 670 times
Written on 2006-03-11 at 01:22

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Zoya Zaidi
This is dark, dreary and full of
Meaning worth a whole life time,
I am full of sorrow to read,
What goes on in your mind?
Never the less an excellent write!
Goes to my Fav.'s in spite of the
Sarcophagous bend!

((((Hugs dear Ben)))

Love, xxx, Zoya
2006-03-11