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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Death · #1304731
Poem about...


The flourishing petals of a flower once sweet,
Wilt in the shadows, so cold and so bleak.
A sigh of the wind, ruffles his hair,
Eyes open wide, gripping despair.

One breath flees his lips, a touch of the Reaper,
His bud seals shut, and mind withdraws deeper.
A white demon face as pale as the snow,
'Come' says the angel, 'now we must go.'
© Copyright 2007 Elle - no longer a fresher... (ellliexxx at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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