A poem – The Appeal

The Appeal 

Noiselessly,
Movement in the semi lighted wood.

A black cloak, Scythe in hand,
Seeks the last embers of life.

A woman,
Eyes closing, pulse fading.

A little girl by her side,
A newborn mewling between bloody thighs.

The long shadow, bereft of warmth,
Covers them all.

The girl looks up,
Plucks a blood red flower.

Eyes wide, she raises it up,
Colour set against monochrome and shadow.

Death pauses, looks down,
Refusing the appeal.

September 2013 – Helen A Quinn

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s