Your painfull loss is a serpent that goes,
unbound, unhinged, unchained, it grows.
Slithering, squeezing, swallowing all it meets,
turning your loss into their defeats.
This serpent of loss is a daring foe,
one with a frightfull charge to go and go.
If you let it; it will take your best,
leave you an empty shell for all to detest.
Yourself, you will remain no longer,
all you knew put too somber.
All you once were but a ghost,
in the shadows of the serpentine host.
You musnt lay in dread,
of the loss that you have bled.
For this is the poison of the snake,
laying in wait, for your life too take.
True loss brings on desires to yern,
a reprocussion of the snake bites burn.
If you dwell on the loss and drowned in the cries,
the serpent has won, for all you were dies.
So hold your burdons not,
bear its fruit, and leave it forgot.
Untangle sorrows knot and leave it loose,
before you hang; in the serpents noose.
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Comments about this poem (serpents noose by Calico Wolf )
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Edgar Allan Poe
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