Day Thirty Nine: 31st August 2012

DEATH

Clinging to a precipice,
I hang waiting to fall,
Anguished, I lament the words uttered,
Words once exploding with happiness,
Fresh with youthful exuberance,
Only vitriol and bitterness now remain,
Laced with a seething resentment,
Burning the flesh of the soul,
A putrid aroma that only death will forgive.

Death: Pastel on Paper

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

© Dawn Whitehand 2012

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