Twas Friday the thirteenth.
In fear and agony, will people weep.
Cannot see an object through the black.
Keep the door open just a crack.
Hearing the floor boards creak,
Hoping it's no freak.
Glance to the crooked tree,
Still nothing there be.
Dead silent, only the heart beat.
I've a warm body and cold feet.
Glowing eyes and shadows,
Tell of a deep, mournful sorrow.
He starts to sing his song,
Quite soon, I'll be gone.
I cannot fight,
Only make my plight.
YOU ARE READING
Poems.
PoesíaThis is just a collection of some poems that I have written. Feel free to like or comment your thoughts.
