Fatal is the blow
That cuts deep the wounds
From which blood doth flow
And wherein death blooms
Who halts to listen well
To the shrill, distant cry?
For whom doth aged bell
Toll its haunting reply?
Ghostly apparition stares
With vengeful malcontent.
Its horrid finger bares
Blame to its dark intent.
Haunted is the lost one
Who at death's door awaits.
Lo, the evil that's won;
It ne'er dissipates.
-
Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Offline) - Published: October 4th, 2017 17:47
- Category: Gothic
- Views: 41
- User favorite of this poem: Mugsdaddy.
Offline)
Comments2
Yes, perfect for this time of year. Very well written. ; )
Thank you so much. Glad you liked it!
Really really good I like the flow and the style excellent write.
Mugsdaddy
Thank you so much.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.