O'Conor


My Eleventh Hour - Poem by O'Conor

I pray the night falls before I see her face again
The one who wields a rapier of annihilation

Between the mournful howling of troubled winds
My ears twitch as she draws near with a piercing cry
Which cuts through the falling darkness
Causing the breeze to release its warm embrace
And bite at my skin with sharp ice cold teeth

My breath is now visible before the grimace on my face
And my heart beats to the rhythm of her stallion's gallop

To run would be a futile attempt to escape the inevitable
So I fall to my knees with my eyes to the ground
With trembling lips I mumble one last prayer
The sound of raging hoofs against the terrain gets louder
She shrieks, I close my eyes, and she strikes

Copyright 2002 D. Bruce Arokoyo. All rights reserved.


Comments about My Eleventh Hour by O'Conor

  • (12/14/2004 1:21:00 PM)


    Lovely death poetry at its best... (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: night, heart, howl, running, wind



Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 4, 2003



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