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O
Contributed by
kv1717
on
Wednesday, 16th December 2009 @ 07:10:28 AM in AEST
Topic:
drugabuse
|
When it comes it gives.
It takes over.
The prick of the needle,
Breathe in, breathe in, breathe in
And wait.
Vines around veins,
It wraps, it paralyzes.
Breathe this fire
There is no air.
All that’s left is black.
A charcoal stained empty pit, an empty body.
A forest never grows the same after a fire.
Copyright ©
kv1717
... [
2009-12-16 07:10:28]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: O
(User Rating: 1 )
by Libertina on
Friday, 1st January 2010 @ 08:20:08 AM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
Well, so I'll release this poor little poem from its uncommented state.
I wouldn't say that I've enjoyed reading it- but only because the subject's a much too grave one. The description is sure enough a masterstroke, although I prefer rhymed poems this one really got hold on me, especially the last verse:
A forest never grows the same after a fire.
Great piece of work.
Libertina |
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Re: O
(User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on
Saturday, 23rd January 2010 @ 09:28:25 AM AEST
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Info | Send
a Message)
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| Well written and well done. I especially like the closing line of the poem. |
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