Sunday, December 07, 2008

Night

Shrouded in the dark,
not a word uttered,
you heard the loneliness,
loud and sharp,
like the chill coming over.
It was not a pretty sight,
no, not at all.
All empty in the head,
for starters.
Then the imminent rain and thunder
cooked up a storm -
no, not just literally.
Skin crawled with ants,
well, it seemed so.
And soon, I was burning,
the fire consuming, eddying.
Fire and ice,
Ice and fire -
like when "Hell Freezes Over".
I say, no thanks to the Eagles.

P.S: Pardon me, a bad poem is characteristic of indolence, if it's even a poem.

1 comment:

(T) (H) (B) said...

bad is subjective.. keep on writing =)