TRAGIC Poem: GHASTLY, by Methieshia LeClair

Oh, how ghastly! Ghostly, mostly.
We spirit gist of hocus-pocus.
Hellbound west with fiery focus.
Redeye cloud, like eye shroud locusts,
bloodied, satchelled bags that hold us.
Nor tethered, orphaned, stained in the dark,
embark no more on Orpheusian song,
the notes long rotted.
Only the death-rattles pass the teeth.
Creep, we creep.
As the time collapses our skulls,
Oh, how we long to sleep.
We will be death, by name.
Even Hell no longer tires us.
Just the doubt. All we offer now is our mournful restlessness.
And likely, eternity pervades.

Author: poetryfest

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