Death

Slow creatures, slow,
Nuzzle and press,
And take their food
In the darkness!

No stir is now
In all that once was all!
No dream; no sound;
No sight; no sense, is there!

Unseen, the beam of the sun!
Unknown, the ring of the light!
Unknown, in the cave!
Unseen, by the slow, slow, hungers!

Naught's left
— But food!
All else, that was,
Is away!

— Far away
In the Gleam!
In the Ring!
In the Beam!
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.