The Northern Poem by chris schwartz

Her heart was buried,
Blungeoned by the past
Of your sick, deep green eyes.
She always fought to
Catch her breath,
After you took away
The last breath she
Felt she had.
And you are still
Out there fishing….
When you watch the fog
Rise from the lake
And ingest it's eloquence,
Think of me breathing,
Gasping for air,
Underneath the beautiful landscape
You still enjoy.
Right before
You sink the hook
Into the fish
That you called your trophy.
Then remember,
That it was because
Of your blood stained hook
Set deep in my throat,
That She still got away.