Chilled

Chilled
When eyes were laid upon my face,
A cold stare was seen by all
This look stung as quick as mace,
No one to hear my call
Then the sound that boomed from within,
A high pitched, low toned voice
Torture was surely the very sin,
I had to listen as I had no choice
Next came the touch of a dead man's hand,
The bony fingers lay upon my shoulder
It felt as if the hourglass with sand,
Fell faster as I was not bolder
The smell of the dead was on my throat,
It's skeleton hand wrapped around
The windpipe and nose this smell did coat,
I gasped without making a single sound
Now as we move to taste a potent one indeed,
I shall never be able to forget this sensation
As everyone's warning I did not heed,
The site, sound, touch, smell and most of all taste were death's way of welcoming met to it's station.

*Copyright 11-8-2010 Stacy Perry*

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A very good story. I like the feel and emotion of loneliness and darkness. Last lines are outstanding. A excellent poem. Strong words create a powerful tale.
Coyote

[Black Cat Fever]

This is rather nicely darkly chilling! I think you did a great job on this one.

[Fran Marie]

very nice indeed ...well written

[Peter Joseph Swanson]

Nice!