Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Withering sight

Emaciated, he looked gaunt,
His past continued to haunt,
His vile deeds of the yore,
Gnawed at his innermost core.
Decomposing his life gone by,
He awaited his verdict with a sigh,
His few remaining days on earth,
Of love, there was a dearth.
Repentance, it crossed his mind,
‘Too little, too late’, he resigned,
No one else will ever come to know,
To the grave, he will take his woes.


  1. I like the way you got the three words in here, well played.

  2. great use of the three words. i felt his loneliness in this piece. why is it that people can't share their woes with others? it always makes me feel better to talk things out when i can. hope all is well. have a great night~

  3. 'His vile deeds of the yore,
    Gnawed at his innermost core.'
    it's too bad he feels that he can't repent and he take it to the grave.


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