The pale moonlight shines
On the bloodied dove.
It's eyes black as coals
roasting in the fires of hell.
The wings are crooked
like an abused play thing
and many of the feathers are missing
exposing torn flesh.
The neck is resting oddly,
mangled like it's missing heart.
The beak is cracked open
as if waiting for silent cries.
One claw is curled around
a white rose painted with blood
the petals grasping on for life
But as the moon smiles it's sadistic grin,
The flower withers painfully
And the wind whispers, mourning the loss.
YOU ARE READING
Remebrance
PoesiaA book of poems written by me. Any poem I write will go in this book. Thanks for reading.
