Poem: SLEEPING DEATH

The freshly broken branch
Of a young oak tree
Perhaps unable to
Sustain her tender weight
As she sat,
Admiring nature,
Waiting, longingly for him
Beside the silent
Beautiful brooks
Belies any hope of sleeping death

Her head rests peacefully
On a young tender flower,
Dark rotting blood, trailing a path
Down her neck
Where a spike, had pierced
An artery
To the patch
Sounded louder than any thud
Of her graceful, short,
Yet fatal fall!

The knowing ugly black vultures
Circled overhead,
High above the lush greenery
With each cycle climbing
Lower and lower
Closer, and closer,
To a beautiful meal!


Those who read this, also read:

Fleeting Breath (Aka Dying Diane)

Beyond Death

I pass my neighbour