Death

Hands unclean,

soiled and marked by time

reach for me

thru the empty hours

of days gone by.

 

Spindely fingers

long and knarled

by age and disease

wrap around my wrist

with surprising strength.

 

A strength

born of desperation

of the final hour

death bringing them home

to an unknown hell.

 

Silent screams

no air to breath

yet a fetid stench

of rot and decay

permiates the tepid air

almost smothering.

 

There is no escape

from the demon

lurking in the shadows

gripping me

watching

as I struggle.

 

Death

is not painful

when it swoops in for the kill

pain comes after

from tormenting anticiaption.

 

Anticipation

of when I will live again

yet not be alive

of when I too will seek

the blood of

innocents.

 

It was not death

that haunted me

only a vague

resemblence

of that fallen angel.

 

An angel

like me

who walks the shadows

hunting

watching

just waiting

to drink.

Reviews

[Jonathan Bryant Dean]

An interesting point of view. The last stanza is reminiscent of a Vampire, so this could be a poem about one who longs for a true death that cannot be achieved.

I liked the imagry in the beginning as well, very descriptive of aging, and death.

JBD

[The Spaniard]

I really liked this...I often enjoy things that are writn in free thought as this seems to be. I assume it was one of those poems that just came out woith no concious thought. I feel those are the best. Anyway I did enjoy it and I will read more of your work as time passes.

[Robert Luna]

Hmm. It seemed almost as if you were going with the thought of the first vampire was originally an angel that fell for the grace of God and cast out by the devil to live forever without knowing the peace of death. Or at least that is the first thing that came to my mind. LOL but we know i am a little twisted most of the time.

I really enjoyed the free flow of this piece like water flowing seamlessly without being forced just leaving it own trail to be followed.

Great Job!!!