I'll tell you when I fall in love
Don't worry.
I'll come down your garden lawn
And when you see my smug face
You'll know.
I made it there first
Be jealous!
Scream be angry scratch
Out of my sight
But I'll still know.
You want someone to love you
When I steal that someone,
You'll know.
--
Narrow roads paved with stones
Small and jagged, will prick.
Houses, crumbling, lived in with bones
Skeletal people, derelict.
Hell! You scream. A black paradise.
Morbid, dusty, bleeding.
Mourning hot sun's tragic demise
It's cold. The ice is feeding.
Frost coats - transparent, not white.
Edging slowly, careful! It'll bite.
Smoky breaths - not fire, but cold.
Ours souls are to serpentine devil sold.
We fall, turn to bone, we sleep, never die.
Wake up, paralyzed - in a skeletal frame.
Gaze, unwilling grins, watch others go by
and turn, like us, into death's ivory game.
-
I haven't written a rhyming poem in ages. I thought I'd lost the ability. Maybe I have. It took me longer than usual to churn this out.
The second one (hell) pretty much wrote itself. I didn't mean for it to be that morbid. I meant it to be nice and quaint and pretty. But I like it anyway.
And I don't really mean what I said in the first poem.
