Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Oct 2019
Let me see his face
For he is seldom revealed
Unless to the weak, or the unfortunate
Thus, he is weak, he is unfortunate
He skulks in the undergrowth
And perches upon cobwebbed chandeliers
Waiting for ruin, for retribution
Waiting for cosmic coincidence
And his name is death
But let my eyes give him life
Written by
Dan  23/M/London
(23/M/London)   
120
   Sue Collins
Please log in to view and add comments on poems