The Death Grip,
Is like a lion,
Watching it's prey,
Waiting to pounce.
It waits for a surprise or overwhelment of sadness or pain.
Then it attacks.
It strangles and without waiting,
Goes for the death grip.
It squeezes and squeezes,
And the prey feels helpless and on the edge of life.
All of a sudden,
With a bang and a pow,
The lion is lying on the floor.
The prey looks around,
but sees nothing
He sees a kind, gentle hand.
Reaching out.
He takes it and the hand helps him up.
Then disappears.
The Death Grip is gone.
The lion is the death grip of sadness,
And we are the prey.
The hand is God
who helps us in every way.
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Author:
Lizzy Renee (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 4th, 2017 08:44
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 77
- Users favorite of this poem: alisha
Offline)
Comments5
You have nothing to fear in the hands of God .
Love the structure - a good read.
Thank you
Good write. On this theme, I read recently that a 'quick death' can be preferable, enviable even, than a long drawn-out 'living death' .e.g. some illnesses.
This is fab poetry for age 12!
Thank you, Orchidee
Very good write with a great message.
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