Glad At Last, That, I Be Dead. Poem by Michael Gale
Glad At Last, That, I Be Dead.
Grab the knife and drive it deep within my gut...
Let it cut, let it cut.
Twist it's handle, at an angle sharp...
Sharpest sharp, now scream louder than
a softened harp.
The voices, deep within, my head...
Listen, listen, till I'm dead.
That is when my sadness is fed...
My depression-in it's-red.
Until at last, I am dead...
I am dead, at last,
gladdened-dead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
5/6/2024 11:42:59 AM # 1.0.0.1119
