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Death is my Cradle
©Christmas Day, 2016 by Olan L. Smith
Death is my cradle, a playmate for me,
A remarkable bloke, no skull and cross bones,
No, not he; he's an angel come to play
Within my abode to rock me asleep,
And becomes a friendly tragedy as I awake.
Dread, despise, and despair is
His name as he hides beneath my bed
In guise of ravenous crocodiles.
He hides in my closet, fear forbids me
To slumber, he wants to take me
Into the depths of darkness, and in day
He'd wishes to drown me in arid sand,
Leap from a precipice, he says, promising
The world as my crib. Alas, fear departs
When I enter my closet I learn his secrets,
Only bones rattle in dark shadows.
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Write Upon My Stone
Poetry"Write Upon My Stone" has turned into a collection of my poems about death, and other of my poems with dark themes. I will be adding to this collection with both new and older poems with those themes. Love, peace, and freedom. Olan L. Smith (aka...
