seven

There once was an old

Man he always stayed on the porch

Of his New York

Home.

From time to time

He set foot outside with the chime

In his ears

Without any fears

He walked down the street

Even if the creep

Behind him followed him down to the creek.

He killed a man in the war

He wasn’t proud of his acts

It ate him from the inside out

Cold shivers ran through him when he cut his coat

The blood spewed down his throat

He closed his eyes on the world

To go to a place he thought would be good.

On the bible in front of him

Drops of blood spattered over the pages

Of Mark

The untouched page, the words stood out, Trust in God.

But it was too late

He had already gone.

Reviews

[Victoria PoetryBunny]

Sad... love your rhyming in this, your pretty good at it. The rhyming seems effortless in the story in this write.

[TheRavenQueer]

"The untouched page, the words stood out, Trust in God.
But it was too late
He had already gone."

These words struck a chord. Very well written! Your poetry seems to be getting darker and darker as I go along.