Treasure Island

Sandy Player


Lynch


They lead him on,
Black wool lamb up the brown-green stepped hill
To the crookèd tree that
Bends with broken body.
The ghost silhouettes,
Illuminated hotly red by hatreds fire,
Stand around in circle,
Chanting out of sync.

They look on with lidless eyes
Making cymbal clashes with their teeth
As the lamb is hooked up
Resting on a cool gleam of a metallic bucket.

He is dropping
And floats like a massless particle.
A dizzying suffocation starves his brain.

They howl, drip
Blood as he joins the tree,
A still autumn leaf.

Submitted: Thursday, February 14, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, January 14, 2014

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  • Søren Valentine (3/12/2013 10:33:00 AM)

    as he joins the tree,
    A still autumn leaf.

    The way you ended the poem was fantastic. There wasn't some flashy ending or anything big, but oh so powerful.

    I got the feeling of a tired sadness, an emotion I just love (in a strange way) . I've no favourite part though because I honestly loved the whole poem.

    One thing I think mars it slightly is the second line. I feel it to be a little too much description for one line and it messes with the flow. Otherwise, awesometasticalness! Lol (Report) Reply

Read all 3 comments »

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