Final Wish

He writes himself to death...
Never to see another moon.
A victim to the shadows.
The devils reach always loomed.
Hovering round him, like darkened gallows
A prayer too late, too soon.
Had he passed on tommorow.
His wish would have come true.
But now he lay motionless...
Defeated by life and abused.
In the midst of writing a final poem...
about a wish coming true.

by Lance Carthen

Comments (1)

What a poem of woe and forlorn Lance. I like it... Laters...Joshua.