The feeling in my fingers,
long since gone like my sight,
yet my conscience still lingers,
as I sway here left to right.
My blood has stopped flowing,
the heart I had has died,
and yet the wind is still blowing,
as under the sun I am fried;
while the tree is still growing,
and I am lifted ever high,
but I hang here knowing,
that in the end I still tried.
Tears of sorrowful loved ones,
that for me were never cried,
there's a grave in the ground,
where my body should have lied.
But yet here I still hang,
around my neck the rope is tied,
my spirit becoming tame,
as this is where they hoped I'd died.
But don't you dare start praying,
because my time isn't through,
it doesn't matter what they're saying,
my demise wasn't true,
and now you've left me hanging,
...I'm coming after you.
YOU ARE READING
Random Poetry
PoetryA small collection of poems I was required to do for assignments and what not. Now also including a few other poems I wrote out of boredom. Cover artwork: Typewriter - by drivesmeinsane http://www.deviantart.com/art/Typewriter-71733985
