The Rat Poem by Guy Northam
The Rat
Momentarily, I had your trust;
Your spasms of death were dying.
A blunt, bloodied head
Rested on my fingertips;
A soft, vulnerable body
Pulsed upon my palm;
The coiled whip of a tail
Slapped against my wrist.
Your one good eye did not recognize
The reaper in me
As I laid you on the ground.
It took one blow to end your misery,
Another to open mine.
Sunday, October 26, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: death
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12/4/2024 1:01:44 PM # 1.0.0
